SITY  LIBRARY 
r  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

in  memory  of 


DR.  FR/NZ  /LEXANDER 
^7 

MRS.    ALEXANDER 


-     E      •  .'•."         -'-• 
I 


.-.  '   r- 
m  ' 


y 


Mr.  Whittier  in  1876 


THE  PROSE  WORKS 


OF 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 


IN   THREE  VOLUMES 
VOLUME   II 


OLD  PORTRAITS  AND  MODERN  SKETCHES 
HISTORICAL  PAPERS,  ETC. 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
«Tambrfojje 


Copyright,  1866, 
BY  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHTTTIEE. 

Copyright,  1889, 

BY  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITHER,  AND 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

Copyright,  1892, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


CONTENTS 


OLD  PORTRAITS  AND  MODERN"  SKETCHES.  PAGE 

JOHN  BUNYAN 9 

THOMAS  ELLWOOD 37 

JAMES  NAYLER 69 

ANDREW  MARVELL 87 

JOHN  ROBERTS 104 

SAMUEL  HOPKINS        .  .       .  .        •      130 

RICHARD  BAXTER   ..',-«       .        .       .       .       .        •  146 

WILLIAM  LEGGETT 184 

NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS 216 

ROBERT  DDTSMORE 245 

PLACIDO,  THE  SLAVE  POET 261 

PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES. 

THE  FUNERAL  OF  TORREY 271 

EDWARD  EVERETT 274 

LEWIS  TAPPAN 278 

BAYARD  TAYLOR 281 

WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING 283 

DEATH  OF  PRESIDENT  GARFIELD 284 

LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD 286 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 309 

LONGFELLOW        ........      311 

OLD  NEWBURY .  312 

SCHOOLDAY  REMEMBRANCES      .....      316 
EDWIN  PERCY  WHIPPLE        ......  318 

HISTORICAL  PAPERS. 

DANIEL  O'CONNELL 321 


CONTENTS 

ENGLAND  UNDER  JAMES  II 348 

THE  BORDER  WAR  OF  1708 368 

THE  GREAT  IPSWICH  FRIGHT 380 

POPE  NIGHT 389 

THE  BOY  CAPTIVES 395 

THE  BLACK  MEN  IN  THE  REVOLUTION  AND  WAR  OF 

1812          .      • 406 

THE  SCOTTISH  REFORMERS 417 

THE  PILGRIMS  OF  PLYMOUTH 431 

GOVERNOR  ENDICOTT 434 

JOHN  WINTHROP  .      436 


PAGE 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  AT  THE  AGE  OF  69.     En- 
graved on  Steel,  by  F.  T.  Stuart Frontispiece 

MR.  WHITTIEK'S  STUDY,  OAK  KNOLL,  DANVERS  l      ...    66 

SAMUEL  HOPKINS 130 

LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD 286 

OLD  NEWBURY J.  Appleton  Brown  .    .  312 

THE  BOY  CAPTIVES Gilbert  Gaul  ....  400 

1  From  a  photograph  copyrighted  by  B.  F.  Mills,  Cambridge,  Mass. 


OLD   PORTRAITS   AND   MODERN 
SKETCHES 

Inscribed  as  follows,  when  first  collected  in  book-form  :  — 
To  Dr.  G.  BAILEY,  of  the  National  Era,  Washington,  D.  C., 
these  sketches,  many  of  which  originally  appeared  in  the  columns 
of  the  paper  under  his  editorial  supervision,  are,  in  their  present 
form,  offered  as  a  token  of  the  esteem  and  confidence  which  years 
of  political  and  literary  communion  have  justified  and  confirmed, 
on  the  part  of  his  friend  and  associate, 

THE  AUTHOB. 

JOHN  BUNYAN. 

"  Wouldst  see 
A  man  i'  the  clouds,  and  hear  him  speak  to  thee  ?  " 

WHO  has  not  read  Pilgrim's  Progress  ?  Who 
has  not,  in  childhood,  followed  the  wandering 
Christian  on  his  way  to  the  Celestial  City  ?  Who 
has  not  laid  at  night  his  young  head  on  the  pillow, 
to  paint  on  the  walls  of  darkness  pictures  of  the 
Wicket  Gate  and  the  Archers,  the  Hill  of  Diffi- 
culty, the  Lions  and  Giants,  Doubting  Castle  and 
Vanity  Fair,  the  sunny  Delectable  Mountains  and 
the  Shepherds,  the  Black  River  and  the  wonderful 
glory  beyond  it ;  and  at  last  fallen  asleep,  to  dream 
over  the  strange  story,  to  hear  the  sweet  welcom- 
ings  of  the  sisters  at  the  House  Beautiful,  and  the 
song  of  birds  from  the  window  of  that  "upper 
chamber  which  opened  towards  the  sunrising  ?  " 
And  who,  looking  back  to  the  green  spots  in  his 


10  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

childish  experiences,  does  not  bless  the  good  Tin- 
ker of  Elstow  ? 

And  who,  that  has  reperused  the  story  of  the 
Pilgrim  at  a  maturer  age,  and  felt  the  plummet  of 
its  truth  sounding  in  the  deep  places  of  the  soul, 
has  not  reason  to  bless  the  author  for  some  timely 
warning  or  grateful  encouragement  ?  Where  is 
the  scholar,  the  poet,  the  man  of  taste  and  feeling, 
who  does  not,  with  Cowper, 

"Even  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 
Revere  the  man  whose  Pilgrim  marks  the  road, 
And  guides  the  Progress  of  the  soul  to  God ! ' ' 

We  have  just  been  reading,  with  no  slight  de- 
gree of  interest,  that  simple  but  wonderful  piece 
of  autobiography,  entitled  Grace  abounding  to 
the  Chief  of  Sinners,  from  the  pen  of  the  author 
of  Pilgrim's  Progress.  It  is  the  record  of  a  jour- 
ney more  terrible  than  that  of  the  ideal  Pilgrim ; 
"  truth  stranger  than  fiction  ;  "  the  painful  upward 
struggling  of  a  spirit  from  the  blackness  of  despair 
and  blasphemy,  into  the  high,  pure  air  of  Hope 
and  Faith.  More  earnest  words  were  never  writ- 
ten. It  is  the  entire  unveiling  of  a  human  heart ; 
the  tearing  off  of  the  fig-leaf  covering  of  its  sin. 
The  voice  which  speaks  to  us  from  these  old  pages 
seems  not  so  much  that  of  a  denizen  of  the  world 
in  which  we  live,  as  of  a  soul  at  the  last  solemn 
confessional.  Shorn  of  all  ornament,  simple  and 
direct  as  the  contrition  and  prayer  of  childhood, 
when  for  the  first  time  the  Spectre  of  Sin  stands 
by  its  bedside,  the  style  is  that  of  a  man  dead  to 
self-gratification,  careless  of  the  world's  opinion, 
and  only  desirous  to  convey  to  others,  in  all  truth- 


JOHN  BUNYAN  11 

fulness  and  sincerity,  the  lesson  of  his  inward 
trials,  temptations,  sins,  weaknesses,  and  dangers ; 
and  to  give  glory  to  Him  who  had  mercifully  led 
him  through  all,  and  enabled  him,  like  his  own 
Pilgrim,  to  leave  behind  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow 
of  Death,  the  snares  of  the  Enchanted  Ground, 
and  the  terrors  of  Doubting  Castle,  and  to  reach 
the  land  of  Beulah,  where  the  air  was  sweet  and 
pleasant,  and  the  birds  sang  and  the  flowers  sprang 
up  around  him,  and  the  Shining  Ones  walked  in 
the  brightness  of  the  not  distant  Heaven.  In  the 
introductory  pages  he  says  :  "  I  could  have  dipped 
into  a  style  higher  than  this  in  which  I  have  dis- 
coursed, and  could  have  adorned  all  things  more 
than  here  I  have  seemed  to  do ;  but  I  dared  not. 
God  did  not  play  in  tempting  me ;  neither  did  I 
play  when  I  sunk,  as  it  were,  into  a  bottomless  pit, 
when  the  pangs  of  hell  took  hold  on  me ;  where- 
fore, I  may  not  play  in  relating  of  them,  but  be 
plain  and  simple,  and  lay  down  the  thing  as  it 
was." 

This  book,  as  well  as  Pilgrim's  Progress,  was 
written  in  Bedford  prison,  and  was  designed  es- 
pecially for  the  comfort  and  edification  of  his 
"  children,  whom  God  had  counted  him  worthy  to 
beget  in  faith  by  his  ministry."  In  his  introduc- 
tion he  tells  them,  that,  although  taken  from  them, 
and  tied  up,  "  sticking,  as  it  were,  between  the 
teeth  of  the  lions  of  the  wilderness,"  he  once  again, 
as  before,  from  the  top  of  Shemer  and  Hermon,  so 
now,  from  the  lion's  den  and  the  mountain  of  leop- 
ards, would  look  after  them  with  fatherly  care  and 
desires  for  their  everlasting  welfare.  "  If,"  said 


12  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

he,  "  you  have  sinned  against  light ;  if  you  are 
tempted  to  blaspheme ;  if  you  are  drowned  in  de- 
spair ;  if  you  think  God  fights  against  you ;  or 
if  Heaven  is  hidden  from  your  eyes,  remember  it 
was  so  with  your  father.  But  out  of  all  the  Lord 
delivered  me." 

He  gives  no  dates ;  he  affords  scarcely  a  clue  to 
his  localities ;  of  the  man,  as  he  worked,  and  ate, 
and  drank,  and  lodged,  of  his  neighbors  and  con- 
temporaries, of  all  he  saw  and  heard  of  the  world 
about  him,  we  have  only  an  occasional  glimpse, 
here  and  there,  in  his  narrative.  It  is  the  story  of 
his  inward  life  only  that  he  relates.  What  had 
time  and  place  to  do  with  one  who  trembled  al- 
ways with  the  awful  consciousness  of  an  immortal 
nature,  and  about  whom  fell  alternately  the  shad- 
ows of  hell  and  the  splendors  of  heaven  ?  We 
gather,  indeed,  from  his  record,  that  he  was  not  an 
idle  on-looker  in  the  time  of  England's  great  strug- 
gle for  freedom,  but  a  soldier  of  the  Parliament, 
in  his  young  years,  among  the  praying  sworders 
and  psalm-singing  pikemen,  the  Greathearts  and 
Holdfasts  whom  he  has  immortalized  in  his  alle- 
gory; but  the  only  allusion  which  he  makes  to 
this  portion  of  his  experience  is  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion of  the  goodness  of  God  in  preserving  him  on 
occasions  of  peril. 

He  was  born  at  Elstow,  in  Bedfordshire,  in 
1628 ;  and,  to  use  his  own  words,  his  "  father's 
house  was  of  that  rank  which  is  the  meanest  and 
most  despised  of  all  the  families  of  the  land."  His 
father  was  a  tinker,  and  the  son  followed  the  same 
calling,  which  necessarily  brought  him  into  asso- 


JOHN  BUN Y AN  13 

elation  with  the  lowest  and  most  depraved  classes 
of  English  societjr.  The  estimation  in  which  the 
tinker  and  his  occupation  were  held,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  may  be  learned  from  the  quaint 
and  humorous  description  of  Sir  Thomas  Over- 
bury.  "The  tinker,"  saith  he,  "is  a  movable,  for 
he  hath  no  abiding  in  one  place ;  he  seems  to  be 
devout,  for  his  life  is  a  continual  pilgrimage,  and 
sometimes,  in  humility,  goes  barefoot,  therein  mak- 
ing necessity  a  virtue ;  he  is  a  gallant,  for  he  car- 
ries all  his  wealth  upon  his  back  ;  or  a  philosopher, 
for  he  bears  all  his  substance  with  him.  He  is  al- 
ways furnished  with  a  song,  to  which  his  hammer, 
keeping  tune,  proves  that  he  was  the  first  founder 
of  the  kettle-drum ;  where  the  best  ale  is,  there 
stands  his  music  most  upon  crotchets.  The  com- 
panion of  his  travel  is  some  foul,  sun-burnt  quean, 
that,  since  the  terrible  statute,  has  recanted  gypsy- 
ism,  and  is  turned  pedlaress.  So  marches  he  all 
over  England,  with  his  bag  and  baggage  ;  his  con- 
versation is  irreprovable,  for  he  is  always  mending. 
He  observes  truly  the  statutes,  and  therefore  had 
rather  steal  than  beg.  He  is  so  strong  an  enemy 
of  idleness,  that  in  mending  one  hole  he  would 
rather  make  three  than  want  work ;  and  when  he 
hath  done,  he  throws  the  wallet  of  his  faults  be- 
hind him.  His  tongue  is  very  voluble,  which,  with 
canting,  proves  him  a  linguist.  He  is  entertained 
in  every  place,  yet  enters  no  farther  than  the  door, 
to  avoid  suspicion.  To  conclude,  if  he  escape  Ty- 
burn and  Banbury,  he  dies  a  beggar." 

Truly,  but  a  poor  beginning  for  a  pious  life  was 
the  youth  of  John  Bunyan.     As  might  have  been 


14  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

expected,  he  was  a  wild,  reckless,  swearing  boy,  as 
his  father  doubtless  was  before  him.  "  It  was  my 
delight,"  says  he,  "to  be  taken  captive  by  the 
Devil.  I  had  few  equals,  both  for  cursing  and 
swearing,  lying  and  blaspheming."  Yet,  in  his 
ignorance  and  darkness,  his  powerful  imagination 
early  lent  terror  to  the  reproaches  of  conscience. 
He  was  scared,  even  in  childhood,  with  dreams  of 
hell  and  apparitions  of  devils.  Troubled  with 
fears  of  eternal  fire,  and  the  malignant  demons 
who  fed  it  in  the  regions  of  despair,  he  says  that 
he  often  wished  either  that  there  was  no  hell,  or 
that  he  had  been  born  a  devil  himself,  that  he 
might  be  a  tormentor  rather  than  one  of  the  tor- 
mented. 

At  an  early  age  he  appears  to  have  married. 
His  wife  was  as  poor  as  himself,  for  he  tells  us 
that  they  had  not  so  much  as  a  dish  or  spoon  be- 
tween them ;  but  she  brought  with  her  two  books 
on  religious  subjects,  the  reading  of  which  seems 
to  have  had  no  slight  degree  of  influence  on  his 
mind.  He  went  to  church  regularly,  adored  the 
priest  and  all  things  pertaining  to  his  office,  being, 
as  he  says,  "  overrun  with  superstition."  On  one 
occasion,  a  sermon  was  preached  against  the  breach 
of  the  Sabbath  by  sports  or  labor,  which  struck 
him  at  the  moment  as  especially  designed  for  him- 
self ;  but  by  the  time  he  had  finished  his  dinner 
he  was  prepared  to  "  shake  it  out  of  his  mind,  and 
return  to  his  sports  and  gaming." 

"  But  the  same  day,"  he  continues,  "  as  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  game  of  cat,  and  having  struck  it 
one  blow  from  the  hole,  just  as  I  was  about  to 


JOHN  BUNYAN  15 

strike  it  a  second  time,  a  voice  did  suddenly  dart 
from  Heaven  into  my  soul,  which  said,  *  Wilt  thou 
leave  thy  sins  and  go  to  heaven,  or  have  thy  sins 
and  go  to  hell  ? '  At  this,  I  was  put  to  an  exceed- 
ing maze ;  wherefore,  leaving  my  cat  upon  the 
ground,  I  looked  up  to  Heaven,  and  it  was  as  if  I 
had,  with  the  eyes  of  my  understanding,  seen  the 
Lord  Jesus  look  down  upon  me,  as  being  very 
hotly  displeased  with  me,  and  as  if  He  did  severely 
threaten  me  with  some  grievous  punishment  for 
those  and  other  ungodly  practices. 

"  I  had  no  sooner  thus  conceived  in  my  mind, 
but  suddenly  this  conclusion  fastened  on  my  spirit, 
(for  the  former  hint  did  set  my  sins  again  before 
my  face,)  that  I  had  been  a  great  and  grievous 
sinner,  and  that  it  was  now  too  late  for  me  to  look 
after  Heaven ;  for  Christ  would  not  forgive  me 
nor  pardon  my  transgressions.  Then,  while  I  was 
thinking  of  it,  and  fearing  lest  it  should  be  DO,  I 
felt  my  heart  sink  in  despair,  concluding  it  was  too 
late ;  and  therefore  I  resolved  in  my  mind  to  go 
on  in  sin ;  for,  thought  I,  if  the  case  be  thus,  my 
state  is  surely  miserable  ;  miserable  if  I  leave  my 
sins,  and  but  miserable  if  I  follow  them ;  I  can  but 
be  damned  ;  and  if  I  must  be  so,  I  had  as  good  be 
damned  for  many  sins  as  be  damned  for  few." 

The  reader  of  Pilgrim's  Progress  cannot  fail 
here  to  call  to  mind  the  wicked  suggestions  of  the 
Giant  to  Christian,  in  the  dungeon  of  Doubting 
Castle. 

"  I  returned,"  he  says,  "  desperately  to  my  sport 
again ;  and  I  well  remember,  that  presently  this 
kind  of  despair  did  so  possess  my  soul,  that  I  was 


16  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

persuaded  I  could  never  attain  to  other  comfort 
than  what  I  should  get  in  sin ;  for  Heaven  was 
gone  already,  so  that  on  that  I  must  not  think  ; 
wherefore,  I  found  within  me  great  desire  to  take 
my  fill  of  sin,  that  I  might  taste  the  sweetness  of 
it ;  and  I  made  as  much  haste  as  I  could  to  fill  my 
belly  with  its  delicates,  lest  I  should  die  before  I 
had  my  desires;  for  that  I  feared  greatly.  In 
these  things,  I  protest  before  God,  I  lie  not,  neither 
do  I  frame  this  sort  of  speech  ;  these  were  really, 
strongly,  and  with  all  my  heart,  my  desires ;  the 
good  Lord,  whose  mercy  is  unsearchable,  forgive 
my  transgressions." 

One  day,  while  standing  in  the  street,  cursing 
and  blaspheming,  he  met  with  a  reproof  which 
startled  him.  The  woman  of  the  house  in  front  of 
which  the  wicked  young  tinker  was  standing,  her- 
self, as  he  remarks,  "  a  very  loose,  ungodly  wretch," 
protested  that  his  horrible  profanity  made  her 
tremble ;  that  he  was  the  ungodliest  fellow  for 
swearing  she  had  ever  heard,  and  able  to  spoil  all 
the  youth  of  the  town  who  came  in  his  company. 
Struck  by  this  wholly  unexpected  rebuke,  he  at 
once  abandoned  the  practice  of  swearing  ;  although 
previously  he  tells  us  that  "  he  had  never  known 
how  to  speak,  unless  he  put  an  oath  before  and 
another  behind." 

The  good  name  which  he  gained  by  this  change 
was  now  a  temptation  to  him.  "  My  neighbors," 
he  says,  "  were  amazed  at  my  great  conversion 
from  prodigious  profaneness  to  something  like  a 
moral  life  and  sober  man.  Now,  therefore,  they 
began  to  praise,  to  commend,  and  to  speak  well  of 


JOHN  BUN Y AN  17 

me,  both  to  my  face  and  behind  my  back.  Now  I 
was,  as  they  said,  become  godly ;  now  I  was  be- 
come a  right  honest  man.  But  oh !  when  I  under- 
stood those  were  their  words  and  opinions  of  me, 
it  pleased  me  mighty  well ;  for  though  as  yet  I 
was  nothing  but  a  poor  painted  hypocrite,  yet  I 
loved  to  be  talked  of  as  one  that  was  truly  godly. 
I  was  proud  of  my  godliness,  and,  indeed,  I  did  all 
I  did  either  to  be  seen  of  or  well  spoken  of  by 
men ;  and  thus  I  continued  for  about  a  twelve- 
month or  more." 

The  tyranny  of  his  imagination  at  this  period  is 
seen  in  the  following  relation  of  his  abandonment 
of  one  of  his  favorite  sports. 

"  Now,  you  must  know,  that  before  this  I  had 
taken  much  delight  in  ringing,  but  my  conscience 
beginning  to  be  tender,  I  thought  such  practice 
was  but  vain,  and  therefore  forced  myself  to  leave 
it ;  yet  my  mind  hankered ;  wherefore,  I  would  go 
to  the  steeple-house  and  look  on,  though  I  durst 
not  ring ;  but  I  thought  this  did  not  become  re- 
ligion neither ;  yet  I  forced  myself,  and  would  look 
on  still.  But  quickly  after,  I  began  to  think, 
*  How  if  one  of  the  bells  should  fall  ? '  Then  I 
chose  to  stand  under  a  main  beam,  that  lay  over- 
thwart  the  steeple,  from  side  to  side,  thinking  here 
I  might  stand  sure  ;  but  then  I  thought  again, 
should  the  bell  fall  with  a  swing,  it  migh^  first  hit 
the  wall,  and  then,  rebounding  upon  me,  might  kill 
me  for  all  this  beam.  This  made  me  stand  in  the 
steeple  door;  and  now,  thought  I,  I  am  safe 
enough ;  for  if  a  bell  should  then  fall,  I  can  slip 
out  behind  these  thick  walls,  and  so  be  preserved 
notwithstanding. 


18  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"  So  after  this  I  would  yet  go  to  see  them  ring, 
but  would  not  go  any  farther  than  the  steeple-door. 
But  then  it  came  in  my  head,  '  How  if  the  steeple 
itself  should  fall  ? '  And  this  thought  (it  may, 
for  aught  I  know,  when  I  stood  and  looked  on) 
did  continually  so  shake  my  mind,  that  I  durst  not 
stand  at  the  steeple-door  any  longer,  but  was  forced 
to  flee,  for  fear  the  steeple  should  fall  upon  my 
head." 

About  this  time,  while  wandering  through  Bed- 
ford in  pursuit  of  employment,  he  chanced  to  see 
three  or  four  poor  old  women  sitting  at  a  door,  in 
the  evening  sun,  and,  drawing  near  them,  heard 
them  converse  upon  the  things  of  God ;  of  His 
work  in  their  hearts  ;  of  their  natural  depravity  ; 
of  the  temptations  of  the  Adversary ;  and  of  the 
joy  of  believing,  and  of  the  peace  of  reconciliation. 
The  words  of  the  aged  women  found  a  response  in 
the  soul  of  the  listener.  "  He  felt  his  heart  shake," 
to  use  his  own  words ;  he  saw  that  he  lacked  the 
true  tokens  of  a  Christian.  He  now  forsook  the 
company  of  the  profane  and  licentious,  and  sought 
that  of  a  poor  man  who  had  the  reputation  of  piety, 
but,  to  his  grief,  he  found  him  "  a  devilish  ranter, 
given  up  to  all  manner  of  uncleanness ;  he  would 
laugh  at  all  exhortations  to  sobriety,  and  deny  that 
there  was  a  God,  an  angel,  or  a  spirit." 

"  Neither,"  he  continues,  "  was  this  man  only  a 
temptation  to  me,  but,  my  calling  lying  in  the  coun- 
try, I  happened  to  come  into  several  people's  com- 
pany, who,  though  strict  in  religion  formerly,  yet 
were  also  drawn  away  by  these  ranters.  These 
would  also  talk  with  me  of  their  ways,  and  con- 


JOHN  BUNYAN  19 

demn  me  as  illegal  and  dark ;  pretending  that  they 
only  had  attained  to  perfection,  that  they  could  do 
what  they  would,  and  not  sin.  Oh  !  these  tempta- 
tions were  suitable  to  my  flesh,  I  being  but  a 
young  man,  and  my  nature  in  its  prime  ;  but  God, 
who  had,  as  I  hope,  designed  me  for  better  things, 
kept  me  in  the  fear  of  His  name,  and  did  not  suffer 
me  to  accept  such  cursed  principles." 

At  this  time  he  was  sadly  troubled  to  ascertain 
whether  or  not  he  had  that  faith  which  the  Scrip- 
tures spake  of.  Travelling  one  day  from  Elstow  to 
Bedford,  after  a  recent  rain,  which  had  left  pools 
of  water  in  the  path,  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  set- 
tle the  question,  by  commanding  the  pools  to  be- 
come dry,  and  the  dry  places  to  become  pools. 
Going  under  the  hedge,  to  pray  for  ability  to  work 
the  miracle,  he  was  struck  with  the  thought  that 
if  he  failed  he  should  know,  indeed,  that  he  was 
a  castaway,  and  give  himself  up  to  despair.  He 
dared  not  attempt  the  experiment,  and  went  on 
his  way,  to  use  his  own  forcible  language,  "  tossed 
up  and  down  between  the  Devil  and  his  own  igno- 
rance." 

Soon  after,  he  had  one  of  those  visions  which 
foreshadowed  the  wonderful  dream  of  his  Pilgrim? s 
Progress.  He  saw  some  holy  people  of  Bedford 
on  the  sunny  side  of  an  high  mountain,  refreshing 
themselves  in  the  pleasant  air  and  sunlight,  while 
he  was  shivering  in  cold  and  darkness,  amidst 
snows  and  never-melting  ices,  like  the  victims  of 
the  Scandinavian  hell.  A  wall  compassed  the 
mountain,  separating  him  from  the  blessed,  with 
one  small  gap  or  doorway,  through  which,  with 


20  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

great  pain  and  effort,  he  was  at  last  enabled  to 
work  his  way  into  the  sunshine,  and  sit  down  with 
the  saints,  in  the  light  and  warmth  thereof. 

But  now  a  new  trouble  assailed  him.     Like  Mil- 
ton's metaphysical  spirits,  who  sat  apart, 

"And  reasoned  of  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate," 

he  grappled  with  one  of  those  great  questions  which 
have  always  perplexed  and  baffled  human  inquiry, 
and  upon  which  much  has  been  written  to  little 
purpose.  He  was  tortured  with  anxiety  to  know 
whether,  according  to  the  Westminster  formula,  he 
was  elected  to  salvation  or  damnation.  His  old 
adversary  vexed  his  soul  with  evil  suggestions,  and 
even  quoted  Scripture  to  enforce  them.  "  It  may 
be  you  are  not  elected,"  said  the  Tempter  ;  and  the 
poor  tinker  thought  the  supposition  altogether  too 
probable.  "  Why,  then,"  said  Satan,  "  you  had  as 
good  leave  off,  and  strive  no  farther;  for  if,  indeed, 
you  should  not  be  elected  and  chosen  of  God, 
there  is  no  hope  of  your  being  saved ;  for  it  is 
neither  in  him  that  willeth  nor  in  him  that  runneth, 
but  in  God  who  showeth  mercy."  At  length,  when, 
as  he  says,  he  was  about  giving  up  the  ghost  of  all 
his  hopes,  this  passage  fell  with  weight  upon  his 
spirit :  "  Look  at  the  generations  of  old,  and  see  ; 
did  ever  any  trust  in  God,  and  were  confounded  ?  " 
Comforted  by  these  words,  he  opened  his  Bible 
to  note  them,  but  the  most  diligent  search  and 
inquiry  of  his  neighbors  failed  to  discover  them. 
At  length  his  eye  fell  upon  them  in  the  Apocryphal 
book  of  Ecclesiasticus.  This,  he  says,  somewhat 
doubted  him  at  first,  as  the  book  was  not  canon- 
ical ;  but  in  the  end  he  took  courage  and  comfort 


JOHN  BUNYAN  21 

from  the  passage.  "  I  bless  God,"  he  says,  "  for 
that  word;  it  was  good  for  me.  That  word  doth 
still  oftentimes  shine  before  my  face." 

A  long  and  weary  struggle  was  now  before  him. 
"  I  cannot,"  he  says,  "  express  with  what  longings 
and  breathings  of  my  soul  I  cried  unto  Christ  to 
call  me.  Gold !  could  it  have  been  gotten  by 
gold,  what  would  I  have  given  for  it.  Had  I  a 
whole  world,  it  had  all  gone  ten  thousand  times 
over  for  this,  that  my  soul  might  have  been  in  a 
converted  state.  How  lovely  now  was  every  one 
in  my  eyes,  that  I  thought  to  be  converted  men 
and  women.  They  shone,  they  walked  like  a  peo- 
ple who  carried  the  broad  seal  of  Heaven  with 
them." 

With  what  force  and  intensity  of  language  does 
he  portray  in  the  following  passage  the  reality  and 
earnestness  of  his  agonizing  experience :  — 

"  While  I  was  thus  afflicted  with  the  fears  of 
my  own  damnation,  there  were  two  things  would 
make  me  wonder :  the  one  was,  when  I  saw  old 
people  hunting  after  the  things  of  this  life,  as  if 
they  should  live  here  always  ;  the  other  was,  when 
I  found  professors  much  distressed  and  cast  down, 
when  they  met  with  outward  losses  ;  as  of  hus- 
band, wife,  or  child.  Lord,  thought  I,  what  seek- 
ing after  carnal  things  by  some,  and  what  grief  in 
others  for  the  loss  of  them !  If  they  so  much 
labor  after  and  shed  so  many  tears  for  the  things 
of  this  present  life,  how  am  I  to  be  bemoaned,  pit- 
ied, and  prayed  for  !  My  soul  is  dying,  my  soul 
is  damning.  Were  my  soul  but  in  a  good  con- 
dition, and  were  I  but  sure  of  it,  ah !  how  rich 


22  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

should  I  esteem  myself,  though  blessed  but  with 
bread  and  water  !  I  should  count  these  but  small 
afflictions,  and  should  bear  them  as  little  burdens. 
'  A  wounded  spirit  who  can  bear !  ' ' 

He  looked  with  envy,  as  he  wandered  through 
the  country,  upon  the  birds  in  the  trees,  the  hares 
in  the  preserves,  and  the  fishes  in  the  streams. 
They  were  happy  in  their  brief  existence,  and 
their  death  was  but  a  sleep.  He  felt  himself  alien- 
ated from  God,  a  discord  in  the  harmonies  of  the 
universe.  The  very  rooks  which  fluttered  around 
the  old  church  spire  seemed  more  worthy  of  the 
Creator's  love  and  care  than  himself.  A  vision  of 
the  infernal  fire,  like  that  glimpse  of  hell  which  was 
afforded  to  Christian  by  the  Shepherds,  was  con- 
tinually before  him,  with  its  "  rumbling  noise,  and 
the  cry  of  some  tormented,  and  the  scent  of  brim- 
stone." Whithersoever  he  went,  the  glare  of  it 
scorched  him,  and  its  dreadful  sound  was  in  his 
ears.  His  vivid  but  disturbed  imagination  lent 
new  terrors  to  the  awful  figures  by  which  the 
sacred  writers  conveyed  the  idea  of  future  retribu- 
tion to  the  Oriental  mind.  Bunyan's  World  of 
Woe,  if  it  lacked  the  colossal  architecture  and 
solemn  vastness  of  Milton's  Pandemonium,  was 
more  clearly  defined ;  its  agonies  were  within  the 
pale  of  human  comprehension ;  its  victims  were 
men  and  women,  with  the  same  keen  sense  of  cor- 
poreal suffering  which  they  possessed  in  life  ;  and 
who,  to  use  his  own  terrible  description,  had  "  all 
the  loathed  variety  of  hell  to  grapple  with  ;  fire 
unquenchable,  a  lake  of  choking  brimstone,  eternal 
chains,  darkness  more  black  than  night,  the  ever- 


JOHN  BUNYAN  23 

lasting  gnawing  of  the  worm,  the  sight  of  devils, 
and  the  yells  and  outcries  of  the  damned." 

His  mind  at  this  period  was  evidently  shaken  in 
some  degree  from  its  balance.  He  was  troubled 
with  strange,  wicked  thoughts,  confused  by  doubts 
and  blasphemous  suggestions,  for  which  he  could 
only  account  by  supposing  himself  possessed  of  the 
Devil.  He  wanted  to  curse  and  swear,  and  had 
to  clap  his  hands  on  his  mouth  to  prevent  it.  In 
prayer,  he  felt,  as  he  supposed,  Satan  behind  him, 
pulling  his  clothes,  and  telling  him  to  have  done, 
and  break  off  ;  suggesting  that  he  had  better  pray 
to  him,  and  calling  up  before  his  mind's  eye  the 
figures  of  a  bull,  a  tree,  or  some  other  object,  in- 
stead of  the  awful  idea  of  God. 

He  notes  here,  as  cause  of  thankfulness,  that, 
even  in  this  dark  and  clouded  state,  he  was  en- 
abled to  see  the  "  vile  and  abominable  things 
fomented  by  the  Quakers,"  to  be  errors.  Gradu- 
ally, the  shadow  wherein  he  had  so  long 

"  Walked  beneath  the  day's  broad  glare, 
A  darkened  man," 

passed  from  him,  and  for  a  season  he  was  afforded 
an  "  evidence  of  his  salvation  from  Heaven,  with 
many  golden  seals  thereon  hanging  in  his  sight." 
But,  ere  long,  other  temptations  assailed  him.  A 
strange  suggestion  haunted  him,  to  sell  or  part 
with  his  Saviour.  His  own  account  of  this  hallu- 
cination is  too  painfully  vivid  to  awaken  any  other 
feeling  than  that  of  sympathy  and  sadness. 

"  I  could  neither  eat  my  food,  stoop  for  a  pin, 
chop  a  stick,  or  cast  mine  eye  to  look  on  this  or 
that,  but  still  the  temptation  would  come,  Sell 


24  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

Christ  for  this,  or  sell  Christ  for  that ;  sell  him, 
sell  him. 

"  Sometimes  it  would  run  in  my  thoughts,  not  so 
little  as  a  hundred  times  together,  Sell  him,  sell 
him;  against  which,  I  may  say,  for  whole  hours 
together,  I  have  been  forced  to  stand  as  continually 
leaning  and  forcing  my  spirit  against  it,  lest  haply, 
before  I  were  aware,  some  wicked  thought  might 
arise  in  my  heart,  that  might  consent  thereto ;  and 
sometimes  the  tempter  would  make  me  believe  I 
had  consented  to  it ;  but  then  I  should  be  as  tor- 
tured upon  a  rack,  for  whole  days  together. 

"  This  temptation  did  put  me  to  such  scares, 
lest  I  should  at  sometimes,  I  say,  consent  thereto, 
and  be  overcome  therewith,  that,  by  the  very  force 
of  my  mind,  my  very  body  would  be  put  into  action 
or  motion,  by  way  of  pushing  or  thrusting  with 
my  hands  or  elbows  ;  still  answering,  as  fast  as  the 
destroyer  said,  Sell  him,  I  will  not,  I  will  not,  I 
will  not ;  no,  not  for  thousands,  thousands,  thou- 
sands of  worlds  ;  thus  reckoning,  lest  I  should  set 
too  low  a  value  on  him,  even  until  I  scarce  well 
knew  where  I  was,  or  how  to  be  composed  again. 

"  But  to  be  brief :  one  morning,  as  I  did  lie  in 
my  bed,  I  was,  as  at  other  times,  most  fiercely 
assaulted  with  this  temptation,  to  sell  and  part 
with  Christ ;  the  wicked  suggestion  still  running 
in  my  mind,  Sell  him,  sell  him,  sell  him,  sell  him, 
sell  him,  as  fast  as  a  man  could  speak ;  against 
which,  also,  in  my  mind,  as  at  other  times,  I  an- 
swered, No,  no,  not  for  thousands,  thousands, 
thousands,  at  least  twenty  times  together ;  but  at 
last,  after  much  striving,  I  felt  this  thought  pass 


JOHN  BUN Y AN  25 

through  my  heart,  Let  Mm  go  if  Tie  will ;  and  I 
thought  also,  that  I  felt  my  heart  freely  consent 
thereto.  Oh,  the  diligence  of  Satan  !  Oh,  the  des- 
perateness  of  man's  heart ! 

"  Now  was  the  battle  won,  and  down  fell  I,  as 
a  bird  that  is  shot  from  the  top  of  a  tree,  into  great 
guilt,  and  fearful  despair.  Thus  getting  out  of  my 
bed,  I  went  moping  into  the  field  ;  but  God  knows 
with  as  heavy  a  heart  as  mortal  man,  I  think,  could 
bear  ;  where,  for  the  space  of  two  hours,  I  was  like 
a  man  bereft  of  life ;  and,  as  now,  past  all  recov- 
ery, and  bound  over  to  eternal  punishment. 

"  And  withal,  that  Scripture  did  seize  upon  my 
soul :  '  Or  profane  person,  as  Esau,  who,  for  one 
morsel  of  meat,  sold  his  birthright ;  for  ye  know, 
how  that  afterward,  when  he  would  have  inherited 
the  blessing,  he  was  rejected  ;  for  he  found  no 
place  for  repentance,  though  he  sought  it  carefully 
with  tears.' " 

For  two  years  and  a  half,  as  he  informs  us,  that 
awful  Scripture  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  knell 
of  a  lost  soul.  He  believed  that  he  had  commit- 
ted the  unpardonable  sin.  His  mental  anguish 
was  united  with  bodily  illness  and  suffering.  His 
nervous  system  became  fearfully  deranged ;  his 
limbs  trembled ;  and  he  supposed  this  visible  trern- 
ulousness  and  agitation  to  be  the  mark  of  Cain. 
Troubled  with  pain  and  distressing  sensations  in 
his  chest,  he  began  to  fear  that  his  breast-bone 
would  split  open,  and  that  he  should  perish  like 
Judas  Iscariot.  He  feared  that  the  tiles  of  the 
houses  would  fall  upon  him  as  he  walked  in  the 
streets.  He  was  like  his  own  Man  in  the  Cage  at 


26  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  House  of  the  Interpreter,  shut  out  from  the 
promises,  and  looking  forward  to  certain  judgment. 
"  Methought,"  he  says,  "  the  very  sun  that  shineth 
in  heaven  did  grudge  to  give  me  light."  And  still 
the  dreadful  words,  "  He  found  no  place  for  re- 
pentance, though  he  sought  it  carefully  with  tears," 
sounded  in  the  depths  of  his  soul.  They  were,  he 
says,  like  fetters  of  brass  to  his  legs,  and  their  con- 
tinual clanking  followed  him  for  months.  Regard- 
ing himself  elected  and  predestined  for  damnation, 
he  thought  that  all  things  worked  for  his  damage 
and  eternal  overthrow,  while  all  things  wrought  for 
the  best  and  to  do  good  to  the  elect  and  called  of 
God  unto  salvation.  God  and  all  His  universe 
had,  he  thought,  conspired  against  him  ;  the  green 
earth,  the  bright  waters,  the  sky  itself,  were  writ- 
ten over  with  His  irrevocable  curse. 

Well  was  it  said  by  Bunyan's  contemporary,  the 
excellent  Cudworth,  in  his  eloquent  sermon  before 
the  Long  Parliament,  that  "  We  are  nowhere  com- 
manded to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  God,  but  the 
wholesome  advice  given  us  is  this  :  '  To  make  our 
calling  and  election  sure.'  We  have  no  warrant 
from  Scripture  to  peep  into  the  hidden  rolls  of 
eternity,  to  spell  out  our  names  among  the  stars." 
"  Must  we  say  that  God  sometimes,  to  exercise  His 
uncontrollable  dominion,  delights  rather  in  plung- 
ing wretched  souls  down  into  infernal  night  and 
everlasting  darkness  ?  What,  then,  shall  we  make 
the  God  of  the  whole  world  ?  Nothing  but  a  cruel 
and  dreadful  Erinnys,  with  curled  fiery  snakes 
about  His  head,  and  firebrands  in  His  hand  ;  thus 
governing  the  world !  Surely,  this  will  make  us 


JOHN  BUNYAN  27 

either  secretly  think  there  is  no  God  in  the  world, 
if  He  must  needs  be  such,  or  else  to  wish  heartily 
there  were  none."  It  was  thus  at  times  with  Bun- 
yan.  He  was  tempted,  in  this  season  of  despair, 
to  believe  that  there  was  no  resurrection  and  no 
judgment. 

One  day,  he  tells  us,  a  sudden  rushing  sound,  as 
of  wind  or  the  wings  of  angels,  came  to  him  through 
the  window,  wonderfully  sweet  and  pleasant ;  and 
it  was  as  if  a  voice  spoke  to  him  from  heaven 
words  of  encouragement  and  hope,  which,  to  use 
his  language,  commanded,  for  the  time,  "  a  silence 
in  his  heart  to  all  those  tumultuous  thoughts  that 
did  use,  like  masterless  hell-hounds,  to  roar  and  bel- 
low and  make  a  hideous  noise  within  him."  About 
this  time,  also,  some  comforting  passages  of  Scrip- 
ture were  called  to  mind ;  but  he  remarks,  that 
whenever  he  strove  to  apply  them  to  his  case, 
Satan  would  thrust  the  curse  of  Esau  in  his  face, 
and  wrest  the  good  word  from  him.  The  blessed 
promise,  "  Him  that  cometh  to  me,  I  will  in  no 
wise  cast  out,"  was  the  chief  instrumentality  in  re- 
storing his  lost  peace.  He  says  of  it :  "  If  ever 
Satan  and  I  did  strive  for  any  word  of  God  in  all 
my  life,  it  was  for  this  good  word  of  Christ ;  he  at 
one  end,  and  I  at  the  other.  Oh,  what  work  we 
made  !  It  was  for  this  in  John,  I  say,  that  we  did 
so  tug  and  strive ;  he  pulled,  and  I  pulled,  but, 
God  be  praised !  I  overcame  him ;  I  got  sweetness 
from  it.  Oh,  many  a  pull  hath  my  heart  had  with 
Satan  for  this  blessed  sixth  chapter  of  John !  " 

Who  does  not  here  call  to  mind  the  struggle 
between  Christian  and  Apollyon  in  the  valley ! 


28  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

That  was  no  fancy  sketch ;  it  was  the  narrative  of 
the  author's  own  grapple  with  the  Spirit  of  Evil. 
Like  his  ideal  Christian,  he  "  conquered  through 
Him  that  loved  him."  Love  wrought  the  victory : 
the  Scripture  of  Forgiveness  overcame  that  of 
Hatred. 

He  never  afterwards  relapsed  into  that  state  of 
religious  melancholy  from  which  he  so  hardly  es- 
caped. He  speaks  of  his  deliverance  as  the  wak- 
ing out  of  a  troublesome  dream.  His  painful  ex- 
perience was  not  lost  upon  him ;  for  it  gave  him, 
ever  after,  a  tender  sympathy  for  the  weak,  the  sin- 
ful, the  ignorant,  and  desponding.  In  some  meas- 
ure, he  had  been  "  touched  with  the  feeling  of  their 
infirmities."  He  could  feel  for  those  in  the  bonds 
of  sin  and  despair,  as  bound  with  them.  Hence 
his  power  as  a  preacher ;  hence  the  wonderful 
adaptation  of  his  great  allegory  to  all  the  variety  of 
spiritual  conditions.  Like  Fearing,  he  had  lain  a 
month  in  the  Slough  of  Despond,  and  had  played, 
like  him,  the  long  melancholy  bass  of  spiritual 
heaviness.  With  Feeble-mind,  he  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  Slay-good,  of  the  nature  of  Man-eat- 
ers :  and  had  limped  along  his  difficult  way  upon 
the  crutches  of  Ready-to-halt.  Who  better  than 
himself  could  describe  the  condition  of  Despond- 
ency, and  his  daughter  Much-afraid,  in  the  dun- 
geon of  Doubting  Castle  ?  Had  he  not  also  fallen 
among  thieves,  like  Little-faith  ? 

His  account  of  his  entering  upon  the  solemn 
duties  of  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel  is  at  once  curi- 
ous and  instructive.  He  deals  honestly  with  him- 
self, exposing  all  his  various  moods,  weaknesses, 


JOHN  BUN Y AN  29 

doubts,  and  temptations.  "  I  preached,"  he  says, 
"  what  I  felt ;  for  the  terrors  of  the  law  and  the 
guilt  of  transgression  lay  heavy  on  my  conscience. 
I  have  been  as  one  sent  to  them  from  the  dead.  I 
went,  myself  in  chains,  to  preach  to  them  in  chains ; 
and  carried  that  fire  in  my  conscience  which  I 
persuaded  them  to  beware  of."  At  times,  when 
he  stood  up  to  preach,  blasphemies  and  evil  doubts 
rushed  into  his  mind,  and  he  felt  a  strong  desire 
to  utter  them  aloud  to  his  congregation ;  and  at 
other  seasons,  when  he  was  about  to  apply  to  the 
sinner  some  searching  and  fearful  text  of  Scrip- 
ture, he  was  tempted  to  withhold  it,  on  the  ground 
that  it  condemned  himself  also ;  but,  withstand- 
ing the  suggestion  of  the  Tempter,  to  use  his  own 
simile,  he  bowed  himself  like  Samson  to  condemn 
sin  wherever  he  found  it,  though  he  brought  guilt 
and  condemnation  upon  himself  thereby,  choosing 
rather  to  die  with  the  Philistines  than  to  deny  the 
truth. 

Foreseeing  the  consequences  of  exposing  himself 
to  the  operation  of  the  penal  laws  by  holding  con- 
venticles and  preaching,  he  was  deeply  afflicted  at 
the  thought  of  the  suffering  and  destitution  to 
which  his  wife  and  children  might  be  exposed  by 
his  death  or  imprisonment.  Nothing  can  be  more 
touching  than  his  simple  and  earnest  words  on  this 
point.  They  show  how  warm  and  deep  were  his 
human  affections,  and  what  a  tender  and  loving 
heart  he  laid  as  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  duty. 

"  I  found  myself  a  man  compassed  with  infirmi- 
ties ;  the  parting  with  my  wife  and  poor  children 
hath  often  been  to  me  in  this  place  as  the  pulling 


30  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  flesh  from  the  bones ;  and  also  it  brought  to 
my  mind  the  many  hardships,  miseries,  and  wants, 
that  my  poor  family  was  like  to  meet  with,  should 
I  be  taken  from  them,  especially  my  poor  blind 
child,  who  lay  nearer  my  heart  than  all  beside. 
Oh,  the  thoughts  of  the  hardships  I  thought  my 
poor  blind  one  might  go  under  would  break  my 
heart  to  pieces. 

"  Poor  child !  thought  I,  what  sorrow  art  thou 
like  to  have  for  thy  portion  in  this  world !  thou 
must  be  beaten,  must  beg,  suffer  hunger,  cold,  na- 
kedness, and  a  thousand  calamities,  though  I  can- 
not now  endure  the  wind  should  blow  upon  thee. 
But  yet,  thought  I,  I  must  venture  you  all  with 
God,  though  it  goeth  to  the  quick  to  leave  you : 
oh !  I  saw  I  was  as  a  man  who  was  pulling  down 
his  house  upon  the  heads  of  his  wife  and  children  ; 
yet  I  thought  on  those  '  two  milch  kine  that  were 
to  carry  the  ark  of  God  into  another  country,  and 
to  leave  their  calves  behind  them.' 

"  But  that  which  helped  me  in  this  temptation 
was  divers  considerations :  the  first  was,  the  con- 
sideration of  those  two  Scriptures,  '  Leave  thy  fa- 
therless children,  I  will  preserve  them  alive ;  and 
let  thy  widows  trust  in  me  ; '  and  again,  *  The 
Lord  said,  verily  it  shall  go  well  with  thy  rem- 
nant ;  verily  I  will  cause  the  enemy  to  entreat 
them  well  in  the  time  of  evil.'  " 

He  was  arrested  in  1660,  charged  with  "  devil- 
ishly and  perniciously  abstaining  from  church," 
and  of  being  "  a  common  upholder  of  conventicles." 
At  the  Quarter  Sessions,  where  his  trial  seems  to 
have  been  conducted  somewhat  like  that  of  Faith- 


JOHN  BUNYAN  31 

ful  at  Vanity  Fair,  he  was  sentenced  to  perpetual 
banishment.  This  sentence,  however,  was  never 
executed,  but  ho  was  remanded  to  Bedford  jail, 
where  he  lay  a  prisoner  for  twelve  years. 

Here,  shut  out  from  the  world,  with  no  other 
books  than  the  Bible  and  Fox's  Martyrs^  he  penned 
that  great  work  which  has  attained  a  wider  and 
more  stable  popularity  than  any  other  book  in  the 
English  tongue.  It  is  alike  the  favorite  of  the 
nursery  and  the  study.  Many  experienced  Chris- 
tians hold  it  only  second  to  the  Bible ;  the  infidel 
himself  would  not  willingly  let  it  die.  Men  of  all 
sects  read  it  with  delight,  as  in  the  main  a  truthful 
representation  of  the  Christian  pilgrimage,  without 
indeed  assenting  to  all  the  doctrines  which  the  au- 
thor puts  in  the  mouth  of  his  fighting  sermonizer, 
Great-heart,  or  which  may  be  deduced  from  some 
other  portions  of  his  allegory.  A  recollection  of 
his  fearful  sufferings,  from  misapprehension  of  a 
single  text  in  the  Scriptures,  relative  to  the  ques- 
tion of  election,  we  may  suppose  gave  a  milder  tone 
to  the  theology  of  his  Pilgrim  than  was  altogether 
consistent  with  the  Calvinism  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  "  Keligion,"  says  Macaulay,  "  has 
scarcely  ever  worn  a  form  so  calm  and  soothing  as 
in  Bunyan's  allegory."  In  composing  it,  he  seems 
never  to  have  altogether  lost  sight  of  the  fact,  that, 
in  his  life-and-death  struggle  with  Satan  for  the 
blessed  promise  recorded  by  the  Apostle  of  Love, 
the  adversary  was  generally  found  on  the  Genevan 
side  of  the  argument. 

Little  did  the  short-sighted  persecutors  of  Bun- 
yan  dream,  when  they  closed  upon  him  the  door 


32 

of  Bedford  jail,  that  God  would  overrule  their  poor 
spite  and  envy  to  His  own  glory  and  the  world- 
wide renown  of  their  victim.  In  the  solitude  of  his 
prison,  the  ideal  forms  of  beauty  and  sublimity, 
which  had  long  flitted  before  him  vaguely,  like  the 
vision  of  the  Temanite,  took  shape  and  coloring ; 
and  he  was  endowed  with  power  to  reduce  them  to 
order,  and  arrange  them  in  harmonious  groupings. 
His  powerful  imagination,  no  longer  self -torment- 
ing, but  under  the  direction  of  reason  and  grace, 
expanded  his  narrow  cell  into  a  vast  theatre,  light- 
ed up  for  the  display  of  its  wonders.  To  this 
creative  faculty  of  his  mind  might  have  been  aptly 
applied  the  language  which  George  Wither,  a  con- 
temporary prisoner,  addressed  to  his  Muse  :  — 

"  The  dull  loneness,  the  black  shade 
Which  these  hanging  vaults  have  made, 
The  rude  portals  that  give  light 
More  to  terror  than  delight ; 
This  my  chamber  of  neglect, 
Walled  about  with  disrespect,  — 
From  all  these,  and  this  dull  air, 
A  fit  object  for  despair, 
She  hath  taught  me  by  her  might, 
To  draw  comfort  and  delight." 

That  stony  cell  of  his  was  to  him  like  the  rock 
of  Padan-aram  to  the  wandering  Patriarch.  He 
saw  angels  ascending  and  descending.  The  House 
Beautiful  rose  up  before  him,  and  its  holy  sister- 
hood welcomed  him.  He  looked,  with  his  Pilgrim, 
from  the  Chamber  of  Peace.  The  Valley  of  Hu- 
miliation lay  stretched  out  beneath  his  eye,  and  he 
heard  "  the  curious,  melodious  note  of  the  country 
birds,  who  sing  all  the  day  long  in  the  spring  time, 


JOHN  BUNYAN  33 

when  the  flowers  appear,  and  the  sun  shines  warm, 
and  make  the  woods  and  groves  and  solitary  places 
glad."  Side  by  side  with  the  good  Christiana  and 
the  loving  Mercy,  he  walked  through  the  green  and 
lowly  valley,  "  fruitful  as  any  the  crow  flies  over," 
through  "meadows  beautiful  with  lilies  ; "  the  song 
of  the  poor  but  fresh-faced  shepherd-boy,  who  lived 
a  merry  life,  and  wore  the  herb  heartsease  in  his 
bosom,  sounded  through  his  cell :  — 
"  He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall ; 
He  that  is  low  no  pride." 

The  broad  and  pleasant  "  river  of  the  Water  of 
Life "  glided  peacefully  before  him,  fringed  "  on 
either  side  with  green  trees,  with  all  manner  of 
fruit,"  and  leaves  of  healing,  with  "  meadows  beau- 
tified with  lilies,  and  green  all  the  year  long ; "  he 
saw  the  Delectable  Mountains,  glorious  with  sun- 
shine, overhung  with  gardens  and  orchards  and 
vineyards ;  and  beyond  all,  the  Land  of  Beulah, 
with  its  eternal  sunshine,  its  song  of  birds,  its 
music  of  fountains,  its  purple  clustered  vines,  and 
groves  through  which  walked  the  Shining  Ones, 
silver-winged  and  beautiful. 

What  were  bars  and  bolts  and  prison-walls  to 
him,  whose  eyes  were  anointed  to  see,  and  whose 
ears  opened  to  hear,  the  glory  and  the  rejoicing 
of  the  City  of  God,  when  the  pilgrims  were  con- 
ducted to  its  golden  gates,  from  the  black  and  bit- 
ter river,  with  the  sounding  trumpeters,  the  trans- 
figured harpers  with  their  crowns  of  gold,  the 
sweet  voices  of  angels,  the  welcoming  peal  of  bells 
in  the  holy  city,  and  the  songs  of  the  redeemed 
ones?  In  reading  the  concluding  pages  of  the 


34  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

first  part  of.  Pilgrim's  Progress,  we  feel  as  if  the 
mysterious  glory  of  the  Beatific  Vision  was  un- 
veiled before  us.  We  are  dazzled  with  the  excess 
of  light.  We  are  entranced  with  the  mighty 
melody  ;  overwhelmed  by  the  great  anthem  of  re- 
joicing spirits.  It  can  only  be  adequately  de- 
scribed in  the  language  of  Milton  in  respect  to  the 
Apocalypse,  as  "  a  seven-fold  chorus  of  hallelujahs 
and  harping  symphonies." 

Few  who  read  Bunyan  nowadays  think  of  him 
as  one  of  the  brave  old  English  confessors,  whose 
steady  and  firm  endurance  of  persecution  baffled 
and  in  the  end  overcame  the  tyranny  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  What 
Milton  and  Penn  and  Locke  wrote  in  defence  of 
Liberty,  Bunyan  lived  out  and  acted.  He  made 
no  concessions  to  worldly  rank.  Dissolute  lords 
and  proud  bishops  he  counted  less  than  the  hum- 
blest and  poorest  of  his  disciples  at  Bedford.  When 
first  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison,  he  supposed 
he  should  be  called  to  suffer  death  for  his  faithful 
testimony  to  the  truth ;  and  his  great  fear  was, 
that  he  should  not  meet  his  fate  with  the  requisite 
firmness,  and  so  dishonor  the  cause  of  his  Master. 
And  when  dark  clouds  came  over  him,  and  he 
sought  in  vain  for  a  sufficient  evidence  that  in  the 
event  of  his  death  it  would  be  well  with  him,  he 
girded  up  his  soul  with  the  reflection,  that,  as  he 
suffered  for  the  word  and  way  of  God,  he  was  en- 
gaged not  to  shrink  one  hair's  breadth  from  it. 
"  I  will  leap,"  he  says,  "  off  the  ladder  blindfold 
into  eternity,  sink  or  swim,  come  heaven,  come 
hell.  Lord  Jesus,  if  thou  wilt  catch  me,  do ;  if 
not,  I  will  venture  in  thy  name  ! " 


JOHN  BUNYAN  35 

The  English  revolution  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, while  it  humbled  the  false  and  oppressive 
aristocracy  of  rank  and  title,  was  prodigal  in  the 
development  of  the  real  nobility  of  the  mind  and 
heart.  Its  history  is  bright  with  the  footprints  of 
men  whose  very  names  still  stir  the  hearts  of  free- 
men, the  world  over,  like  a  trumpet  peal.  Say 
what  we  may  of  its  fanaticism,  laugh  as  we  may 
at  its  extravagant  enjoyment  of  newly  acquired 
religious  and  civil  liberty,  who  shall  now  venture 
to  deny  that  it  was  the  golden  age  of  England  ? 
Who  that  regards  freedom  above  slavery,  will 
now  sympathize  with  the  outcry  and  lamentation 
of  those  interested  in  the  continuance  of  the  old 
order  of  things,  against  the  prevalence  of  sects 
and  schism,  but  who,  at  the  same  time,  as  Milton 
shrewdly  intimates,  dreaded  more  the  rending  of 
their  pontifical  sleeves  than  the  rending  of  the 
Church?  Who  shall  now  sneer  at  Puritanism, 
with  the  Defence  of  Unlicensed  Printing  before 
him  ?  Who  scoff  at  Quakerism  over  the  Journal 
of  George  Fox  ?  Who  shall  join  with  debauched 
lordlings  and  fat-witted  prelates  in  ridicule  of 
Anabaptist  levellers  and  dippers,  after  rising  from 
the  perusal  of  Pilgrim's  Progress  ?  "  There  were 
giants  in  those  days."  And  foremost  amidst  that 
band  of  liberty-loving  and  God-fearing  men, 

"  The  slandered  Calvinists  of  Charles's  time, 
Who  fought,  and  won  it,  Freedom's  holy  fight," 

stands  the  subject  of  our  sketch,  the  Tinker  of 
Elstow.  Of  his  high  merit  as  an  author  there  is 
no  longer  any  question.  The  Edinburgh  Review 


36  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

expressed  the  common  sentiment  of  the  literary 
world,  when  it  declared  that  the  two  great  crea- 
tive minds  of  the  seventeenth  century  were  those 
which  produced  Paradise  Lost  and  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress. 


THOMAS    ELL  WOOD. 

COMMEND  us  to  autobiographies !  Give  us  the 
veritable  notchings  of  Robinson  Crusoe  on  his 
stick,  the  indubitable  records  of  a  life  long  since 
swallowed  up  in  the  blackness  of  darkness,  traced 
by  a  hand  the  very  dust  of  which  has  become  un- 
distinguishable.  The  foolishest  egotist  who  ever 
chronicled  his  daily  experiences,  his  hopes  and 
fears,  poor  plans  and  vain  Teachings  after  happi- 
ness, speaking  to  us  out  of  the  Past,  and  thereby 
giving  us  to  understand  that  it  was  quite  as  real  as 
our  Present,  is  in  no  mean  sort  our  benefactor,  and 
commands  our  attention,  in  spite  of  his  folly.  We 
are  thankful  for  the  very  vanity  which  prompted 
him  to  bottle  up  his  poor  records,  and  cast  them 
into  the  great  sea  of  Time,  for  future  voyagers  to 
pick  up.  We  note,  with  the  deepest  interest,  that 
in  him  too  was  enacted  that  miracle  of  a  conscious 
existence,  the  reproduction  of  which  in  ourselves 
awes  and  perplexes  us.  He,  too,  had  a  mother ; 
he  hated  and  loved ;  the  light  from  old-quenched 
hearths  shone  over  him  ;  he  walked  in  the  sunshine 
over  the  dust  of  those  who  had  gone  before  him, 
just  as  we  are  now  walking  over  his.  These  rec- 
ords of  him  remain,  the  footmarks  of  a  long-ex- 
tinct life,  not  of  mere  animal  organism,  but  of  a 
being  like  ourselves,  enabling  us,  by  studying  their 
hieroglyphic  significance,  to  decipher  and  see  clearly 


38  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

into  the  mystery  of  existence  centuries  ago.  The 
dead  generations  live  again  in  these  old  self -biog- 
raphies. Incidentally,  unintentionally,  yet  in  the 
simplest  and  most  natural  manner,  they  make  us 
familiar  with  all  the  phenomena  of  life  in  the  by- 
gone ages.  We  are  brought  in  contact  with  actual 
flesh-and-blood  men  and  women,  not  the  ghostly 
outline  figures  which  pass  for  such,  in  what  is 
called  History.  The  horn  lantern  of  the  biog- 
rapher, by  the  aid  of  which,  with  painful  minute- 
ness, he  chronicled,  from  day  to  day,  his  own  out- 
goings and  incomings,  making  visible  to  us  his  piti- 
ful wants,  labors,  trials,  and  tribulations  of  the 
stomach  and  of  the  conscience,  sheds,  at  times,  a 
strong  clear  light  upon  contemporaneous  activities  ; 
what  seemed  before  half  fabulous,  rises  up  in  dis- 
tinct and  full  proportions ;  we  look  at  statesmen, 
philosophers,  and  poets,  with  the  eyes  of  those  who 
lived  perchance  their  next-door  neighbors,  and  sold 
them  beer,  and  mutton,  and  household  stuffs,  had 
access  to  their  kitchens,  and  took  note  of  the  fashion 
of  their  wigs  and  the  color  of  their  breeches.  With- 
out some  such  light,  all  history  would  be  just  about 
as  unintelligible  and  unreal  as  a  dimly  remembered 
dream. 

The  journals  of  the  early  Friends  or  Quakers  are 
in  this  respect  invaluable.  Little,  it  is  true,  can  be 
said,  as  a  general  thing,  of  their  literary  merits. 
Their  authors  were  plain,  earnest  men  and  women, 
chiefly  intent  upon  the  substance  of  things,  and 
having  withal  a  strong  testimony  to  bear  against 
carnal  wit  and  outside  show  and  ornament.  Yet, 
even  the  scholar  may  well  admire  the  power  of 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD  39 

certain  portions  of  George  Fox's  Journal,  where  a 
strong  spirit  clothes  its  utterance  in  simple,  down- 
right Saxon  words ;  the  quiet  and  beautiful  en- 
thusiasm of  Pennington  ;  the  torrent  energy  of 
Edward  Burrough ;  the  serene  wisdom  of  Penn ; 
the  logical  acuteness  of  Barclay ;  the  honest  truth- 
fulness of  Sewell ;  the  wit  and  humor  of  John 
Roberts,  (for  even  Quakerism  had  its  apostolic 
jokers  and  drab-coated  Robert  Halls ;)  and  last, 
not  least,  the  simple  beauty  of  Woolman's  Jour- 
nal, the  modest  record  of  a  life  of  good  works  and 
love. 

Let  us  look  at  the  Life  of  Thomas  Ellwood. 
The  book  before  us  is  a  hardly  used  Philadelphia 
reprint,  bearing  date  of  1775.  The  original  was 
published  some  sixty  years  before.  It  is  not  a 
book  to  be  found  in  fashionable  libraries,  or  noticed 
in  fashionable  reviews,  but  is  none  the  less  deserv- 
ing of  attention. 

Ellwood  was  born  in  1639,  in  the  little  town  of 
Crowell,  in  Oxfordshire.  Old  Walter,  his  father, 
was  of  "gentlemanly  lineage,  and  held  a  com- 
mission of  the  peace  under  Charles  I.  One  of 
his  most  intimate  friends  was  Isaac  Pennington,  a 
gentleman  of  estate  and  good  reputation,  whose 
wife,  the  widow  of  Sir  John  Springette,  was  a 
lady  of  superior  endowments.  Her  only  daughter, 
Gulielma,  was  the  playmate  and  companion  of 
Thomas.  On  making  this  family  a  visit,  in  1658, 
in  company  with  his  father,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  that  they  had  united  with  the  Quakers,  a  sect 
then  little  known,  and  everywhere  spoken  against. 
Passing  through  the  vista  of  nearly  two  centuries, 


40  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

let  us  cross  the  threshold,  and  look  with  the  eyes 
of  young  Ellwood  upon  this  Quaker  family.  It 
will  doubtless  give  us  a  good  idea  of  the  earnest 
and  solemn  spirit  of  that  age  of  religious  awaken- 
ing. 

"  So  great  a  change  from  a  free,  debonair,  and 
courtly  sort  of  behavior,  which  we  had  formerly 
found  there,  into  so  strict  a  gravity  as  they  now 
received  us  with,  did  not  a  little  amuse  us,  and 
disappointed  our  expectations  of  such  a  pleasant 
visit  as  we  had  promised  ourselves. 

"  For  my  part,  I  sought,  and  at  length  found, 
means  to  cast  myself  into  the  company  of  the 
daughter,  whom  I  found  gathering  flowers  in  the 
garden,  attended  by  her  maid,  also  a  Quaker. 
But  when  I  addressed  her  after  my  accustomed 
manner,  with  intention  to  engage  her  in  discourse 
on  the  foot  of  our  former  acquaintance,  though  she 
treated  me  with  a  courteous  mien,  yet,  as  young  as 
she  was,  the  gravity  of  her  looks  and  behavior 
struck  such  an  awe  upon  me,  that  I  found  myself 
not  so  much  master  of  myself  as  to  pursue  any 
further  converse  with  her. 

"We  staid  dinner,  which  was  very  handsome, 
and  lacked  nothing  to  recommend  it  to  me  but  the 
want  of  mirth  and  pleasant  discourse,  which  we 
could  neither  have  with  them,  nor,  by  reason  of 
them,  with  one  another ;  the  weightiness  which 
was  upon  their  spirits  and  countenances  keeping 
down  the  lightness  that  would  have  been  up  in 
ours." 

Not  long  after,  they  made  a  second  visit  to  their 
sober  friends,  spending  several  days,  during  which 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  41 

they  attended  a  meeting,  in  a  neighboring  farm- 
house, where  we  are  introduced  by  Ellwood  to 
two  remarkable  personages,  Edward  Burrough,  the 
friend  and  fearless  reprover  of  Cromwell,  and  by 
far  the  most  eloquent  preacher  of  his  sect ;  and 
James  Nayler,  whose  melancholy  after-history  of 
fanaticism,  cruel  sufferings,  and  beautiful  repent- 
ance, is  so  well  known  to  the  readers  of  English  his- 
tory under  the  Protectorate.  Under  the  preaching 
of  these  men,  and  the  influence  of  the  Pennington 
family,  young  Ellwood  was  brought  into  fellow- 
ship with  the  Quakers.  Of  the  old  Justice's  sor- 
row and  indignation  at  this  sudden  blasting  of  his 
hopes  and  wishes  in  respect  to  his  son,  and  of  the 
trials  and  difficulties  of  the  latter  in  his  new  voca- 
tion, it  is  now  scarcely  worth  while  to  speak.  Let 
us  step  forward  a  few  years,  to  1662,  considering 
meantime  how  matters,  political  and  spiritual,  are 
changed  in  that  brief  period.  Cromwell,  the  Mac- 
cabeus of  Puritanism,  is  no  longer  among  men ; 
Charles  the  Second  sits  in  his  place ;  profane  and 
licentious  cavaliers  have  thrust  aside  the  sleek- 
haired,  painful-faced  Independents,  who  used  to 
groan  approval  to  the  Scriptural  illustrations  of 
Harrison  and  Fleetwood;  men  easy  of  virtue, 
without  sincerity,  either  in  religion  or  politics, 
occupying  the  places  made  honorable  by  the  Mil- 
tons,  Whitlocks,  and  Vanes  of  the  Commonwealth. 
Having  this  change  in  view,  the  light  which  the 
farthing  candle  of  Ellwood  sheds  upon  one  of 
these  illustrious  names  will  not  be  unwelcome. 
In  his  intercourse  with  Penn,  and  other  learned 
Quakers,  he  had  reason  to  lament  his  own  de- 


42  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

ficiencies  in  scholarship,  and  his  friend  Penning, 
ton  undertook  to  put  him  in  a  way  of  remedying 
the  defect. 

"  He  had,"  says  Ellwood,  "  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  Dr.  Paget,  a  physician  of  note  in  Lon- 
don, and  he  with  John  Milton,  a  gentleman  of 
great  note  for  learning  throughout  the  learned 
world,  for  the  accurate  pieces  he  had  written  on 
various  subjects  and  occasions. 

"  This  person,  having  filled  a  public  station  in 
the  former  times,  lived  a  private  and  retired  life 
in  London,  and,  having  lost  his  sight,  kept  always 
a  man  to  read  for  him,  which  usually  was  the  son 
of  some  gentleman  of  his  acquaintance,  whom,  in 
kindness,  he  took  to  improve  in  his  learning. 

"Thus,  by  the  mediation  of  my  friend  Isaac 
Pennington  with  Dr.  Paget,  and  through  him  with 
John  Milton,  was  I  admitted  to  come  to  him,  not 
as  a  servant  to  him,  nor  to  be  in  the  house  with 
him,  but  only  to  have  the  liberty  of  coming  to  his 
house  at  certain  hours  when  I  would,  and  read  to 
him  what  books  he  should  appoint,  which  was  all 
the  favor  I  desired. 

"  He  received  me  courteously,  as  well  for  the 
sake  of  Dr.  Paget,  who  introduced  me,  as  of  Isaac 
Pennington,  who  recommended  me,  to  both  of 
whom  he  bore  a  good  respect.  And,  having  in- 
quired divers  things  of  me,  with  respect  to  my 
former  progression  in  learning,  he  dismissed  me, 
to  provide  myself  with  such  accommodations  as 
might  be  most  suitable  to  my  studies. 

"  I  went,  therefore,  and  took  lodgings  as  near  to 
his  house  (which  was  then  in  Jewen  Street}  as  I 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD  43 

conveniently  could,  and  from  thenceforward  went 
every  day  in  the  afternoon,  except  on  the  first  day 
of  the  week,  and,  sitting  by  him  in  his  dining-room, 
read  to  him  such  books  in  the  Latin  tongue  as 
he  pleased  to  have  me  read. 

"He  perceiving  with  what  earnest  desire  I  had 
pursued  learning,  gave  me  not  only  all  the  encour- 
agement, but  all  the  help  he  could.  For,  having 
a  curious  ear,  he  understood  by  my  tone  when  I 
understood  what  I  read  and  when  I  did  not,  and 
accordingly  would  stop  me,  examine  me,  and  open 
the  most  difficult  passages  to  me." 

Thanks,  worthy  Thomas,  for  this  glimpse  into 
John  Milton's  dining-room ! 

He  had  been  with  "  Master  Milton,"  as  he  calls 
him,  only  a  few  weeks,  when,  being  one  "  first  day 
morning,"  at  the  Bull  and  Mouth  meeting,  Alders- 
gate,  the  train-bands  of  the  city,  "  with  great  noise 
and  clamor,"  headed  by  Major  Rosewell,  fell  upon 
him  and  his  friends.  The  immediate  cause  of  this 
onslaught  upon  quiet  worshippers  was  the  famous 
plot  of  the  Fifth  Monarchy  men,  grim  old  fanatics, 
who  (like  the  Millerites  of  the  present  day)  had 
been  waiting  long  for  the  personal  reign  of  Christ 
and  the  saints  upon  earth,  and  in  their  zeal  to 
hasten  such  a  consummation  had  sallied  into  Lon- 
don streets  with  drawn  swords  and  loaded  match- 
locks. The  government  took  strong  measures  for 
suppressing  dissenters'  meetings  or  "  conventi- 
cles ; "  and  the  poor  Quakers,  although  not  at  all  im- 
plicated in  the  disturbance,  suffered  more  severely 
than  any  others.  Let  us  look  at  the  "  freedom  of 
conscience  and  worship "  in  England  under  that 


44  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

irreverent  Defender  of  the  Faith,  Charles  II.  Ell- 
wood  says :  "  He  that  commanded  the  party  gave 
us  first  a  general  charge  to  come  out  of  the  room. 
But  we,  who  came  thither  at  God's  requiring  to 
worship  Him,  (like  that  good  man  of  old,  who 
said,  we  ought  to  obey  God  rather  than  man,} 
stirred  not,  but  kept  our  places.  Whereupon,  he 
sent  some  of  his  soldiers  among  us,  with  command 
to  drag  or  drive  us  out,  which  they  did  roughly 
enough."  Think  of  it :  grave  men  and  women, 
and  modest  maidens,  sitting  there  with  calm,  im- 
passive countenances,  motionless  as  death,  the 
pikes  of  the  soldiery  closing  about  them  in  a  circle 
of  bristling  steel !  Brave  and  true  ones  !  Not  in 
vain  did  ye  thus  oppose  God's  silence  to  the  Devil's 
uproar ;  Christian  endurance  and  calm  persistence 
in  the  exercise  of  your  rights  as  Englishmen  and 
men  to  the  hot  fury  of  impatient  tyranny  !  From 
your  day  down  to  this,  the  world  has  been  the  bet- 
ter for  your  faithfulness. 

Ellwood  and  some  thirty  of  his  friends  were 
marched  off  to  prison  in  Old  Bridewell,  which,  as 
well  as  nearly  all  the  other  prisons,  was  already 
crowded  with  Quaker  prisoners.  One  of  the  rooms 
of  the  prison  was  used  as  a  torture  chamber.  "  I 
was  almost  affrighted,"  says  Ellwood,  "  by  the 
dismalness  of  the  place  ;  for,  besides  that  the  walls 
were  all  laid  over  with  black,  from  top  to  bottom, 
there  stood  in  the  middle  a  great  whipping-post. 

"  The  manner  of  whipping  there  is,  to  strip  the 
party  to  the  skin,  from  the  waist  upward,  and,  hav- 
ing fastened  him  to  the  whipping-post,  (so  that  he 
can  neither  resist  nor  shun  the  strokes,)  to  lash  his 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  45 

naked  body  with  long,  slender  twigs  of  holly,  which 
will  bend  almost  like  thongs  around  the  body ;  and 
these,  having  little  knots  upon  them,  tear  the  skin 
and  flesh,  and  give  extreme  pain." 

To  this  terrible  punishment  aged  men  and  deli- 
cately nurtured  young  females  were  often  subjected, 
during  this  season  of  hot  persecution. 

From  the  Bridewell,  Ellwood  was  at  length  re- 
moved to  Newgate,  and  thrust  in,  with  other 
"  Friends,"  amidst  the  common  felons.  He  speaks 
of  this  prison,  with  its  thieves,  murderers,  and 
prostitutes,  its  over-crowded  apartments  and  loath- 
some cells,  as  "a  hell  upon  earth."  In  a  closet, 
adjoining  the  room  where  he  was  lodged,  lay  for 
several  days  the  quartered  bodies  of  Phillips, 
Tongue,  and  Gibbs,  the  leaders  of  the  Fifth  Mon- 
archy rising,  frightful  and  loathsome,  as  they  came 
from  the  bloody  hands  of  the  executioners !  These 
ghastly  remains  were  at  length  obtained  by  the 
friends  of  the  dead,  and  buried.  The  heads  were 
ordered  to  be  prepared  for  setting  up  in  different 
parts  of  the  city.  Read  this  grim  passage  of  de- 
scription :  — 

"  I  saw  the  heads  when  they  were  brought  to  be 
boiled.  The  hangman  fetched  them  in  a  dirty 
basket,  out  of  some  by-place,  and,  setting  them 
down  among  the  felons,  he  and  they  made  sport  of 
them.  They  took  them  by  the  hair,  flouting,  jeer- 
ing, and  laughing  at  them  ;  and  then  giving  them 
some  ill  names,  boxed  them  on  their  ears  and 
cheeks ;  which  done,  the  hangman  put  them  into 
his  kettle,  and  parboiled  them  with  bay-salt  and 
cummin-seed :  that  to  keep  them  from  putrefac- 


46  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

tion,  and  this  to  keep  off  the  fowls  from  seizing 
upon  them.  The  whole  sight,  as  well  that  of  the 
bloody  quarters  first  as  this  of  the  heads  after- 
wards, was  both  frightful  and  loathsome,  and  be- 
gat an  abhorrence  in  my  nature." 

At  the  next  session  of  the  municipal  court  at  the 
Old  Bailey,  Ellwood  obtained  his  discharge.  After 
paying  a  visit  to  "  my  Master  Milton,"  he  made 
his  way  to  Chalfont,  the  home  of  his  friends  the 
Penningtons,  where  he  was  soon  after  engaged  as 
a  Latin  teacher.  Here  he  seems  to  have  had  his 
trials  and  temptations.  Gulielma  Springette,  the 
daughter  of  Pennington's  wife,  his  old  playmate, 
had  now  grown  to  be  "  a  fair  woman  of  marriage- 
able age,"  and,  as  he  informs  us,  "  very  desirable, 
whether  regard  was  had  to  her  outward  person, 
which  wanted  nothing  to  make  her  completely 
comely,  or  to  the  endowments  of  her  mind,  which 
were  every  way  extraordinary,  or  to  her  outward 
fortune,  which  was  fair."  From  all  which,  we  are 
not  surprised  to  learn  that  "  she  was  secretly  and 
openly  sought  for  by  many  of  almost  every  rank 
and  condition."  "  To  whom,"  continues  Thomas, 
"  in  their  respective  turns,  (till  he  at  length  came 
for  whom  she  was  reserved,)  she  carried  herself 
with  so  much  evenness  of  temper,  such  courteous 
freedom,  guarded  by  the  strictest  modesty,  that  as 
it  gave  encouragement  or  ground  of  hope  to  none, 
so  neither  did  it  administer  any  matter  of  offence 
or  just  cause  of  complaint  to  any." 

Beautiful  and  noble  maiden !  How  the  imagi- 
nation fills  up  this  outline  limning  by  her  friend, 
and,  if  truth  must  be  told,  admirer!  Serene, 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD  47 

courteous,  healthful ;  a  ray  of  tenderest  and  bland- 
est light,  shining  steadily  in  the  sober  gloom  of 
that  old  household  !  Confirmed  Quaker  as  she  is, 
shrinking  from  none  of  the  responsibilities  and 
dangers  of  her  profession,  and  therefore  liable  at 
any  time  to  the  penalties  of  prison  and  whipping- 
post, under  that  plain  garb  and  in  spite  of  that 
"certain  gravity  of  look  and  behavior,"  —  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  on  one  occasion  awed  young  Ellwood 
into  silence,  —  youth,  beauty,  and  refinement  assert 
their  prerogatives ;  love  knows  no  creed  ;  the  gay, 
and  titled,  and  wealthy  crowd  around  her,  suing  in 
vain  for  her  favor. 

"  Followed,  like  the  tided  moon, 
She  moves  as  calmly  on," 

"  until  he  at  length  comes  for  whom  she  was  re- 
served," and  her  name  is  united  with  that  of  one 
worthy  even  of  her,  the  world-renowned  William 
Penn. 

Meantime,  one  cannot  but  feel  a  good  degree  of 
sympathy  with  young  Ellwood,  her  old  schoolmate 
and  playmate,  placed,  as  he  was,  in  the  same  fam- 
ily with  her,  enjoying  her  familiar  conversation 
and  unreserved  confidence,  and,  as  he  says,  the 
"  advantageous  opportunities  of  riding  and  walk- 
ing abroad  with  her,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day, 
without  any  other  company  than  her  maid ;  for 
so  great,  indeed,  was  the  confidence  that  her 
mother  had  in  me,  that  she  thought  her  daughter 
safe,  if  I  was  with  her,  even  from  the  plots  and  de- 
signs of  others  upon  her."  So  near,  and  yet,  alas ! 
in  truth,  so  distant !  The  serene  and  gentle  light 
which  shone  upon  him,  in  the  sweet  solitudes  of 


48  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

Chalfont,  was  that  of  a  star,  itself  unapproachable. 
As  he  himself  meekly  intimates,  she  was  reserved 
for  another.  He  seems  to  have  fully  understood 
his  own  position  in  respect  to  her  ;  although,  to  use 
his  own  words,  "  others,  measuring  him  by  the 
propensity  of  their  own  inclinations,  concluded  he 
would  steal  her,  run  away  with  her,  and  marry 
her."  Little  did  these  jealous  surmisers  know  of 
the  true  and  really  heroic  spirit  of  the  young  Latin 
master.  His  own  apology  and  defence  of  his  con- 
duct, under  circumstances  of  temptation  which  St. 
Anthony  himself  could  have  scarcely  better  re- 
sisted, will  not  be  amiss. 

"  I  was  not  ignorant  of  the  various  fears  which 
filled  the  jealous  heads  of  some  concerning  me, 
neither  was  I  so  stupid  nor  so  divested  of  all  hu- 
manity as  not  to  be  sensible  of  the  real  and  innate 
worth  and  virtue  which  adorned  that  excellent 
dame,  and  attracted  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  so 
many,  with  the  greatest  importunity,  to  seek  and 
solicit  her ;  nor  was  I  so  devoid  of  natural  heat  as 
not  to  feel  some  sparklings  of  desire,  as  well  as 
others  ;  but  the  force  of  truth  and  sense  of  honor 
suppressed  whatever  would  have  risen  beyond  the 
bounds  of  fair  and  virtuous  friendship.  For  I  ea- 
sily foresaw  that,  if  I  should  have  attempted  any- 
thing in  a  dishonorable  way,  by  fraud  or  force, 
upon  her,  I  should  have  thereby  brought  a  wound 
upon  mine  own  soul,  a  foul  scandal  upon  my  reli- 
gious profession,  and  an  infamous  stain  upon  mine 
honor,  which  was  far  more  dear  unto  me  than  my 
life.  Wherefore,  having  observed  how  some  oth- 
ers had  befooled  themselves,  by  misconstruing  her 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD  49 

common  kindness  (expressed  in  an  innocent,  open, 
free,  and  familiar  conversation,  springing  from  the 
abundant  affability,  courtesy,  and  sweetness  of  her 
natural  temper)  to  be  the  effect  of  a  singular  re- 
gard and  peculiar  affection  to  them,  I  resolved  to 
shun  the  rock  whereon  they  split ;  and,  remember- 
ing the  saying  of  the  poet  — 

'  Felix  quern  faciunt  aliena  Pericula  cantum,' 

I  governed  myself  in  a  free  yet  respectful  carriage 
towards  her,  thereby  preserving  a  fair  reputation 
with  my  friends,  and  enjoying  as  much  of  her  favor 
and  kindness,  in  a  virtuous  and  firm  friendship,  as 
was  fit  for  her  to  show  or  for  me  to  seek." 

Well  and  worthily  said,  poor  Thomas !  What- 
ever might  be  said  of  others,  thou,  at  least,  wast 
no  coxcomb.  Thy  distant  and  involuntary  admira- 
tion of  "  the  fair  Guli  "  needs,  however,  no  excuse. 
Poor  human  nature,  guard  it  as  one  may,  with 
strictest  discipline  and  painfully  cramping  environ- 
ment, will  sometimes  act  out  itself;  and,  in  thy 
case,  not  even  George  Fox  himself,  knowing  thy 
beautiful  young  friend,  (and  doubtless  admiring 
her  too,  for  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  appreciate 
and  honor  the  worth  and  dignity  of  woman,)  could 
have  found  it  in  his  heart  to  censure  thee ! 

At  this  period,  as  was  indeed  most  natural,  our 
young  teacher  solaced  himself  with  occasional  ap- 
peals to  what  he  calls  "  the  Muses."  There  is 
reason  to  believe,  however,  that  the  Pagan  sister- 
hood whom  he  ventured  to  invoke  seldom  graced 
his  study  with  their  personal  attendance.  In  these 
rhyming  efforts,  scattered  up  and  down  his  Jour- 


50  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

nal,  there  are  occasional  sparkles  of  genuine  wit, 
and  passages  of  keen  sarcasm,  tersely  and  fitly  ex- 
pressed. Others  breathe  a  warm,  devotional  feel- 
ing; in  the  following  brief  prayer,  for  instance, 
the  wants  of  the  humble  Christian  are  condensed 
in  a  manner  worthy  of  Quarles  or  Herbert :  — 

"  Oh !  that  mine  eye  might  closed  be 
To  what  concerns  me  not  to  see ; 
That  deafness  might  possess  mine  ear 
To  what  concerns  me  not  to  hear ; 
That  Truth  my  tongue  might  always  tie 
From  ever  speaking  foolishly  ; 
That  no  Tain  thought  might  ever  rest 
Or  be  conceived  in  my  breast ; 
That  by  each  word  and  deed  and  thought 
Glory  may  to  my  God  be  brought ! 
But  what  are  wishes  ?     Lord,  mine  eye 
On  Thee  is  fixed,  to  Thee  I  cry : 
Wash,  Lord,  and  purify  my  heart, 
And  make  it  clean  in  every  part  ; 
And  when  't  is  clean,  Lord,  keep  it  too, 
For  that  is  more  than  I  can  do.' ' 

The  thought  in  the  following  extracts  from  a 
poem  written  on  the  death  of  his  friend  Penning- 
ton's  son  is  trite,  but  not  inaptly  or  inelegantly  ex- 
pressed :  — 

"  What  ground,  alas,  has  any  man 

To  set  his  heart  on  things  below, 
Which,  when  they  seem  most  like  to  stand, 

Fly  like  the  arrow  from  the  bow ! 
Who  's  now  atop  erelong  shall  feel 
The  circling  motion  of  the  wheel ! 

"  The  world  cannot  afford  a  thing 

Which  to  a  well-composed  mind 
Can  any  lasting  pleasure  bring, 

But  in  itself  its  grave  will  find. 
All  things  unto  their  centre  tend  — 
What  had  beginning  must  have  end ! 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD  51 

"  No  disappointment  can  befall 
Us,  having  Him  who 's  all  in  all ! 
What  can  of  pleasure  him  prevent 
Who  hath  the  Fountain  of  Content  ?  " 

In  the  year  1663  a  severe  law  was  enacted 
against  the  "  sect  called  Quakers,"  prohibiting 
their  meetings,  with  the  penalty  of  banishment  for 
the  third  offence  !  The  burden  of  the  prosecution 
which  followed  fell  upon  the  Quakers  of  the  me- 
tropolis, large  numbers  of  whom  were  heavily  fined, 
imprisoned,  and  sentenced  to  be  banished  from 
their  native  land.  Yet,  in  time,  our  worthy  friend 
Ellwood  came  in  for  his  own  share  of  trouble,  in 
consequence  of  attending  the  funeral  of  one  of  his 
friends.  An  evil-disposed  justice  of  the  county  ob- 
tained information  of  the  Quaker  gathering ;  and, 
while  the  body  of  the  dead  was  "  borne  on  Friends' 
shoulders  through  the  street,  in  order  to  be  carried 
to  the  burying-ground,  which  was  at  the  town's 
end,"  says  Ellwood,  "  he  rushed  out  upon  us  with 
the  constables  and  a  rabble  of  rude  fellows  whom 
he  had  gathered  together,  and,  having  his  drawn 
sword  in  his  hand,  struck  one  of  the  foremost  of 
the  bearers  with  it,  commanding  them  to  set  down 
the  coffin.  But  the  Friend  who  was  so  stricken, 
being  more  concerned  for  the  safety  of  the  dead 
body  than  for  his  own,  lest  it  should  fall,  and  any 
indecency  thereupon  follow,  held  the  coffin  fast; 
which  the  justice  observing,  and  being  enraged 
that  his  word  was  not  forthwith  obeyed,  set  his 
hand  to  the  coffin,  and  with  a  forcible  thrust  threw 
it  off  from  the  bearers'  shoulders,  so  that  it  fell  to 
the  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  there 


52  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

we  were  forced  to  leave  it ;  for  the  constables  and 
rabble  fell  upon  us,  and  drew  some  and  drove  oth- 
ers into  the  inn.  Of  those  thus  taken,"  continues 
Ellwood,  "  I  was  one.  They  picked  out  ten  of  us, 
and  sent  us  to  Aylesbury  jail. 

"  They  caused  the  body  to  lie  in  the  open  street 
and  cartway,  so  that  all  travellers  that  passed, 
whether  horsemen,  coaches,  carts,  or  wagons,  were 
fain  to  break  out  of  the  way  to  go  by  it,  until  it 
was  almost  night.  And  then,  having  caused  a 
grave  to  be  made  in  the  unconsecrated  part  of  what 
is  called  the  Churchyard,  they  forcibly  took  the 
body  from  the  widow,  and  buried  it  there." 

He  remained  a  prisoner  only  about  two  months, 
during  which  period  he  comforted  himself  by  such 
verse-making  as  follows,  reminding  us  of  similar 
enigmas  in  Bunyan's  Pilgrim 's  Progress  :  — 

"  Lo !  a  Riddle  for  the  -wise, 
In  the  which  a  Mystery  lies. 

RIDDLE. 

"  Some  men  are  free  whilst  they  in  prison  lie ; 
Others  who  ne'er  saw  prison  captives  die. 

CAUTION. 

"  He  that  can  receive  it  may, 
He  that  cannot,  let  him  stay, 
Not  be  hasty,  bnt  snspend 
Judgment  till  he  sees  the  end. 

SOLUTION. 

"  He 's  only  free,  indeed,  who 's  free  from  sin, 
And  he  is  fastest  bound  that 's  bonnd  therein." 

In  the  mean  time,  where  is  our  "  Master  Mil- 
ton "  ?  We  left  him  deprived  of  his  young  com- 
panion and  reader,  sitting  lonely  in  his  small  din- 
ing-room, in  Jewen  Street.  It  is  now  the  year 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  53 

1665  ;  is  not  the  pestilence  in  London  ?  A  sinful 
and  godless  city,  with  its  bloated  bishops  fawning 
around  the  Nell  Gwyns  of  a  licentious  and  profane 
Defender  of  the  Faith  ;  its  swaggering  and  drunken 
cavaliers ;  its  ribald  jesters ;  its  obscene  ballad- 
singers  ;  its  loathsome  prisons,  crowded  with  God- 
fearing men  and  women :  is  not  the  measure  of  its 
iniquity  already  filled  up  ?  Three  years  only  have 
passed  since  the  terrible  prayer  of  Vane  went  up- 
ward from  the  scaffold  on  Tower  Hill :  "  When 
my  blood  is  shed  upon  the  block,  let  it,  O  God, 
have  a  voice  afterward ! "  Audible  to  thy  ear, 
O  bosom  friend  of  the  martyr !  has  that  blood 
cried  from  earth;  and  now,  how  fearfully  is  it 
answered !  Like  the  ashes  which  the  Seer  of  the 
Hebrews  cast  towards  Heaven,  it  has  returned  in 
boils  and  blains  upon  the  proud  and  oppressive 
city.  John  Milton,  sitting  blind  in  Jeweu  Street, 
has  heard  the  toll  of  the  death-bells,  and  the  night- 
long rumble  of  the  burial-carts,  and  the  terrible 
summons,  "  Bring  out  your  dead!  "  The  Angel 
of  the  Plague,  in  yellow  mantle,  purple-spotted, 
walks  the  streets.  Why  should  he  tarry  in  a 
doomed  city,  forsaken  of  God  1  Is  not  the  com- 
mand, even  to  him,  "  Arise !  and  flee  for  thy  life  "  ? 
In  some  green  nook  of  the  quiet  country,  he  may 
finish  the  great  work  which  his  hands  have  found 
to  do.  He  bethinks  him  of  his  old  friends,  the 
Penningtons,  and  his  young  Quaker  companion, 
the  patient  and  gentle  Ellwood.  "  Wherefore," 
says  the  latter,  "  some  little  time  before  I  went  to 
Aylesbury  jail,  I  was  desired  by  my  quondam 
Master  Milton  to  take  an  house  for  him  in  the 


54  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

neighborhood  where  I  dwelt,  that  he  might  go  out 
of  the  city  for  the  safety  of  himself  and  his  family, 
the  pestilence  then  growing  hot  in  London.  I  took 
a  pretty  box  for  him  in  Giles  Chalfont,  a  mile 
from  me,  of  which  I  gave  him  notice,  and  in- 
tended to  have  waited  on  him  and  seen  him  well 
settled,  but  was  prevented  by  that  imprisonment. 
But  now  being  released  and  returned  home,  I  soon 
made  a  visit  to  him,  to  welcome  him  into  the  coun- 
try. After  some  common  discourse  had  passed  be- 
tween us,  he  called  for  a  manuscript  of  his,  which, 
having  brought,  he  delivered  to  me,  bidding  me 
take  it  home  with  me  and  read  it  at  my  leisure, 
and  when  I  had  so  done  return  it  to  him,  with  my 
judgment  thereupon." 

Now,  what  does  the  reader  think  young  Ellwood 
carried  in  his  gray  coat  pocket  across  the  dikes 
and  hedges  and  through  the  green  lanes  of  Giles 
Chalfont  that  autumn  day  ?  Let  us  look  farther : 
"When  I  came  home,  and  had  set  myself  to  read 
it,  I  found  it  was  that  excellent  poem  which  he  en- 
titled Paradise  Lost.  After  I  had,  with  the  best 
attention,  read  it  through,  I  made  him  another 
visit ;  and,  returning  his  book  with  due  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  favor  he  had  done  me  in  communi- 
cating it  to  me,  he  asked  me  how  I  liked  it  and 
what  I  thought  of  it,  which  I  modestly  but  freely 
told  him  ;  and,  after  some  farther  discourse  about 
it,  I  pleasantly  said  to  him,  '  Thou  hast  said  much 
here  of  Paradise  Lost ;  what  hast  thou  to  say  of 
Paradise  Found  ? '  He  made  me  no  answer,  but 
sat  some  time  in  a  muse ;  then  brake  off  that  dis« 
course,  and  fell  upon  another  subject." 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  55 

"  I  modestly  but  freely  told  him  what  I  thought " 
of  Paradise  Lost !  What  he  told  him  remains  a 
mystery.  One  would  like  to  know  more  precisely 
what  the  first  critical  reader  of  that  song  "  of 
Man's  first  disobedience  "  thought  of  it.  Fancy 
the  young  Quaker  and  blind  Milton  sitting,  some 
pleasant  afternoon  of  the  autumn  of  that  old  year, 
in  "  the  pretty  box "  at  Chalfont,  the  soft  wind 
through  the  open  window  lifting  the  thin  hair  of 
the  glorious  old  Poet !  Backslidden  England, 
plague-smitten,  and  accursed  with  her  faithless 
Church  and  libertine  King,  knows  little  of  poor 
"  Master  Milton,"  and  takes  small  note  of  his  Pu- 
ritanic verse-making.  Alone,  with  his-  humble 
friend,  he  sits  there,  conning  over  that  poem  which, 
he  fondly  hoped,  the  world,  which  had  grown  all 
dark  and  strange  to  the  author,  "  would  not  will- 
ingly let  die."  The  suggestion  in  respect  to  Para- 
dise Found,  to  which,  as  we  have  seen,  "  he  made 
no  answer,  but  sat  some  time  in  a  muse,"  seems 
not  to  have  been  lost ;  for,  "  after  the  sickness 
was  over,"  continues  Ellwood,  "  and  the  city  well 
cleansed,  and  become  safely  habitable  again,  he  re- 
turned thither  ;  and  when  afterwards  I  waited  on 
him  there,  which  I  seldom  failed  of  doing  when- 
ever my  occasions  drew  me  to  London,  he  showed 
me  his  second  poem,  called  Paradise  Gained; 
and,  in  a  pleasant  tone,  said  to  me,  '  This  is  owing 
to  you,  for  you  put  it  into  my  head  by  the  question 
you  put  to  me  at  Chalfont,  which  before  I  had  not 
thought  of.'  " 

Golden  days  were  these  for  the  young  Latin 
reader,  even  if  it  be  true,  as  we  suspect,  that  he 


56  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

was  himself  very  far  from  appreciating  the  glori- 
ous privilege  which  he  enjoyed,  of  the  familiar 
friendship  and  confidence  of  Milton.  But  they 
could  not  last.  His  amiable  host,  Isaac  Penning- 
ton,  a  blameless  and  quiet  country  gentleman,  was 
dragged  from  his  house  by  a  military  force,  and 
lodged  in  Aylesbury  jail ;  his  wife  and  family 
forcibly  ejected  from  their  pleasant  home,  which 
was  seized  upon  by  the  government  as  security  for 
the  fines  imposed  upon  its  owner.  The  plague  was 
in  the  village  of  Aylesbury,  and  in  the  very  prison 
itself ;  but  the  noble-hearted  Mary  Pennington 
followed  her  husband,  sharing  with  him  the  dark 
peril.  Poor  Ellwood,  while  attending  a  monthly 
meeting  at  Hedgerly,  with  six  others,  (among 
them  one  Morgan  Watkins,  a  poor  old  Welshman, 
who,  painfully  endeavoring  to  utter  his  testimony 
in  his  own  dialect,  was  suspected  by  the  Dogberry 
of  a  justice  of  being  a  Jesuit  trolling  over  his 
Latin,)  was  arrested,  and  committed  to  Wiccomb 
House  of  Correction. 

This  was  a  time  of  severe  trial  for  the  sect  with 
which  Ellwood  had  connected  himself.  In  the 
very  midst  of  the  pestilence,  when  thousands  per- 
ished weekly  in  London,  fifty-four  Quakers  were 
marched  through  the  almost  deserted  streets,  and 
placed  on  board  a  ship,  for  the  purpose  of  being 
conveyed,  according  to  their  sentence  of  banish- 
ment, to  the  West  Indies.  The  ship  lay  for  a  long 
time,  with  many  others  similarly  situated,  a  help- 
less prey  to  the  pestilence.  Through  that  terrible 
autumn,  the  prisoners  sat  waiting  for  the  summons 
of  the  ghastly  Destroyer  ;  and,  from  their  floating 
dungeon, 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD  57 

' '  Heard  the  groan 

Of  agonizing  ships  from  shore  to  shore ; 
Heard  nightly  plunged  beneath  the  sullen  wave 
The  frequent  corse.' ' 

When  the  vessel  at  length  set  sail,  of  the  fifty-four 
who  went  on  board,  twenty-seven  only  were  living. 
A  Dutch  privateer  captured  her,  when  two  days 
out,  and  carried  the  prisoners  to  North  Holland, 
where  they  were  set  at  liberty.  The  condition  of 
the  jails  in  the  city,  where  were  large  numbers  of 
Quakers,  was  dreadful  in  the  extreme.  Ill  venti- 
lated, crowded,  and  loathsome  with  the  accumu- 
lated filth  of  centuries,  they  invited  the  disease 
which  daily  decimated  their  cells.  "  Go  on ! " 
says  Pennington,  writing  to  the  King  and  bishops 
from  his  plague-infected  cell  in  the  Aylesbury 
prison  :  "  try  it  out  with  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  ! 
Come  forth  with  your  laws,  and  prisons,  and  spoil- 
ing of  goods,  and  banishment,  and  death,  if  the 
Lord  please,  and  see  if  ye  can  carry  it !  Whom 
the  Lord  loveth  He  can  save  at  His  pleasure. 
Hath  He  begun  to  break  our  bonds  and  deliver  us, 
and  shall  we  now  distrust  Him?  Are  we  in  a 
worse  condition  than  Israel  was  when  the  sea  was 
before  them,  the  mountains  on  either  side,  and  the 
Egyptians  behind,  pursuing  them  ?  " 

Brave  men  and  faithful!  It  is  not  necessary 
that  the  present  generation,  now  quietly  reaping 
the  fruit  of  your  heroic  endurance,  should  see  eye 
to  eye  with  you  in  respect  to  all  your  testimonies 
and  beliefs,  in  order  to  recognize  your  claim  to 
gratitude  and  admiration.  For,  in  an  age  of  hypo- 
critical hollowness  and  mean  self-seeking,  when, 


58  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

with  noble  exceptions,  the  very  Puritans  of  Crom- 
well's Reign  of  the  Saints  were  taking  profane  les- 
sons from  their  old  enemies,  and  putting  on  an 
outside  show  of  conformity,  for  the  sake  of  place 
or  pardon,  ye  maintained  the  austere  dignity  of 
virtue,  and,  with  King  and  Church  and  Parlia- 
ment arrayed  against  you,  vindicated  the  Rights  of 
Conscience,  at  the  cost  of  home,  fortune,  and  life. 
English  liberty  owes  more  to  your  unyielding  firm- 
ness than  to  the  blows  stricken  for  her  at  Worces- 
ter and  Naseby. 

In  1667,  we  find  the  Latin  teacher  in  attendance 
at  a  great  meeting  of  Friends,  in  London,  convened 
at  the  suggestion  of  George  Fox,  for  the  purpose 
of  settling  a  little  difficulty  which  had  arisen  among 
the  Friends,  even  under  the  pressure  of  the  sever- 
est persecution,  relative  to  the  very  important  mat- 
ter of  "  wearing  the  hat."  George  Fox,  in  his  love 
of  truth  and  sincerity  in  word  and  action,  had  dis- 
countenanced the  fashionable  doffing  of  the  hat, 
and  other  flattering  obeisances  towards  men  hold- 
ing stations  in  Church  or  State,  as  savoring  of 
man-worship,  giving  to  the  creature  the  reverence 
only  due  to  the  Creator,  as  undignified  and  want- 
ing in  due  self-respect,  and  tending  to  support  un- 
natural and  oppressive  distinctions  among  those 
equal  in  the  sight  of  God.  But  some  of  his  disci- 
ples evidently  made  much  more  of  this  "  hat  tes- 
timony "  than  their  teacher.  One  John  Perrott, 
who  had  just  returned  from  an  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  convert  the  Pope,  at  Rome,  (where  that 
dignitary,  after  listening  to  his  exhortations,  and 
finding  him  in  no  condition  to  be  benefited  by  the 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  59 

spiritual  physicians  of  the  Inquisition,  had  quietly 
turned  him  over  to  the  temporal  ones  of  the  Insane 
Hospital,)  had  broached  the  doctrine  that,  in  pub- 
lic or  private  worship,  the  hat  was  not  to  be  taken 
off,  without  an  immediate  revelation  or  call  to  do 
so !  Ellwood  himself  seems  to  have  been  on  the 
point  of  yielding  to  this  notion,  which  appears  to 
have  been  the  occasion  of  a  good  deal  of  dissension 
and  scandal.  Under  these  circumstances,  to  save 
truth  from  reproach,  and  an  important  testimony 
to  the  essential  equality  of  mankind  from  running 
into  sheer  fanaticism,  Fox  summoned  his  tried  and 
faithful  friends  together,  from  all  parts  of  the 
United  Kingdom,  and,  as  it  appears,  with  the  hap- 
piest result.  Hat-revelations  were  discountenanced, 
good  order  and  harmony  reestablished,  and  John 
Perrott's  beaver  and  the  crazy  head  under  it  were 
from  thenceforth  powerless  for  evil.  Let  those 
who  are  disposed  to  laugh  at  this  notable  "  Ecu- 
menical Council  of  the  Hat "  consider  that  ecclesi- 
astical history  has  brought  down  to  us  the  records 
of  many  larger  and  more  imposing  convocations, 
wherein  grave  bishops  and  learned  fathers  took 
each  other  by  the  beard  upon  matters  of  far  less 
practical  importance. 

In  1669,  we  find  Ellwood  engaged  in  escorting 
his  fair  friend,  Gulielma,  to  her  uncle's  residence 
in  Sussex.  Passing  through  London,  and  taking 
the  Tunbridge  road,  they  stopped  at  Seven  Oak  to 
dine.  The  Duke  of  York  was  on  the  road,  with 
his  guards  and  hangers-on,  and  the  inn  was  filled 
with  a  rude  company.  "  Hastening,"  says  Ell- 
wood, "  from  a  place  where  we  found  nothing  but 


60  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

rudeness,  the  roysterers  who  swarmed  there,  be- 
sides  the  damning  oaths  they  belched  out  against 
each  other,  looked  very  sourly  upon  us,  as  if  they 
grudged  us  the  horses  which  we  rode  and  the 
clothes  we  wore."  They  had  proceeded  but  a 
little  distance,  when  they  were  overtaken  by  some 
half  dozen  drunken  rough-riding  cavaliers,  of  the 
Wildrake  stamp,  in  full  pursuit  after  the  beautiful 
Quakeress.  One  of  them  impudently  attempted 
to  pull  her  upon  his  horse  before  him,  but  was  held 
at  bay  by  Ellwood,  who  seems,  on  this  occasion,  to 
have  relied  somewhat  upon  his  "  stick,"  in  defend- 
ing his  fair  charge.  Calling  up  Gulielma's  servant, 
he  bade  him  ride  on  one  side  of  his  mistress,  while 
he  guarded  her  on  the  other.  "  But  he,"  says  Ell- 
wood,  "  not  thinking  it  perhaps  decent  to  ride  so 
near  his  mistress,  left  room  enough  for  another  to 
ride  between."  In  dashed  the  drunken  retainer, 
and  Gulielma  was  once  more  in  peril.  It  was 
clearly  no  time  for  exhortations  and  expostulations, 
"  so,"  says  Ellwood,  "  I  chopped  in  upon  him,  by 
a  nimble  turn,  and  kept  him  at  bay.  I  told  him 
I  had  hitherto  spared  him,  but  wished  him  not 
to  provoke  me  further.  This  I  spoke  in  such  a 
tone  as  bespoke  an  high  resentment  of  the  abuse 
put  upon  us,  and  withal  pressed  him  so  hard  with 
my  horse  that  I  suffered  him  not  to  come  up  again 
to  Guli."  By  this  time,  it  became  evident  to  the 
companions  of  the  ruffianly  assailant  that  the  young 
Quaker  was  in  earnest,  and  they  hastened  to  inter- 
fere. "  For  they,"  says  Ellwood,  "  se.eing  the  con- 
test rise  so  high,  and  probably  fearing  it  would 
rise  higher,  not  knowing  where  it  might  stop,  came 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  61 

in  to  part  us  ;  which  they  did  by  taking  him 
away." 

Escaping  from  these  sons  of  Belial,  Ellwood  and 
his  fair  companion  rode  on  through  Tunbridge 
Wells,  "  the  street  thronged  with  men,  who  looked 
very  earnestly  at  them,  but  offered  them  no  affront," 
and  arrived,  late  at  night,  in  a  driving  rain,  at  the 
mansion-house  of  Herbert  Springette.  The  fiery 
old  gentleman  was  so  indignant  at  the  insult  offered 
to  his  niece,  that  he  was  with  difficulty  dissuaded 
from  demanding  satisfaction  at  the  hands  of  the 
Duke  of  York. 

This  seems  to  have  been  his  last  ride  with  Guli- 
elma.  She  was  soon  after  married  to  William 
Penn,  and  took  up  her  abode  at  Worminghurst,  in 
Sussex.  How  blessed  and  beautiful  was  that  union 
may  be  understood  from  the  following  paragraph 
of  a  letter,  written  by  her  husband,  on  the  eve  of 
his  departure  for  America  to  lay  the  foundations 
of  a  Christian  colony :  — 

"  My  dear  wife !  remember  thou  wast  the  love 
of  my  youth,  and  much  the  joy  of  my  life,  the 
most  beloved  as  well  as  the  most  worthy  of  all  my 
earthly  comforts ;  and  the  reason  of  that  love  was 
more  thy  inward  than  thy  outward  excellences, 
which  yet  were  many.  God  knows,  and  thou 
knowest  it,  I  can  say  it  was  a  match  of  Provi- 
dence's making ;  and  God's  image  in  us  both  was 
the  first  thing  and  the  most  amiable  and  engaging 
ornament  in  our  eyes." 

About  this  time  our  friend  Thomas,  seeing  that 
his  old  playmate  at  Chalfont  was  destined  for 
another,  turned  his  attention  towards  a  "  young 


62  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

Friend,  named  Mary  Ellis."  He  had  been  for  sev- 
eral years  acquainted  with  her,  but  now  he  "  found 
his  heart  secretly  drawn  and  inclining  towards  her." 
"  At  length,"  he  tells  us,  "  as  I  was  sitting  all 
alone,  waiting  upon  the  Lord  for  counsel  and 
guidance  in  this,  in  itself  and  to  me,  important 
affair,  I  felt  a  word  sweetly  arise  in  me,  as  if  I  had 
heard  a  Voice  which  said,  Go,  and  prevail  I  and 
faith  springing  in  my  heart  at  the  word,  I  imme- 
diately rose  and  went,  nothing  doubting."  On  ar- 
riving at  her  residence,  he  states  that  he  "  solemnly 
opened  his  mind  to  her,  which  was  a  great  surprisal 
to  her,  for  she  had  taken  in  an  apprehension,  as 
others  had  also  done,"  that  his  eye  had  been  fixed 
elsewhere  and  nearer  home.  "I  used  not  many 
words  to  her,"  he  continues,  "  but  I  felt  a  Divine 
Power  went  along  with  the  words,  and  fixed  the 
matter  expressed  by  them  so  fast  in  her  breast, 
that,  as  she  afterwards  acknowledged  to  me,  she 
could  not  shut  it  out." 

"  I  continued,"  he  says,  "  my  visits  to  my  best- 
beloved  Friend  until  we  married,  which  was  on  the 
28th  day  of  the  eighth  month,  1669.  We  took 
each  other  in  a  select  meeting  of  the  ancient  and 
grave  Friends  of  that  country.  A  very  solemn 
meeting  it  was,  and  in  a  weighty  frame  of  spirit 
we  were."  His  wife  seems  to  have  had  some  estate ; 
and  Ellwood,  with  that  nice  sense  of  justice  which 
marked  all  his  actions,  immediately  made  his  will, 
securing  to  her,  in  case  of  his  decease,  all  her  own 
goods  and  moneys,  as  well  as  all  that  he  had  him- 
self acquired  before  marriage.  "  Which,"  he  tells, 
"  was  indeed  but  little,  yet,  by  all  that  little,  more 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  63 

than  I  had  ever  given  her  ground  to  expect  with 
me."  His  father,  who  was  yet  unreconciled  to  the 
son's  religious  views,  found  fault  with  his  marriage, 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  unlawful  and  unsanc- 
tioned  by  priest  or  liturgy,  and  consequently  re- 
fused to  render  him  any  pecuniary  assistance.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  this  and  other  trials,  he  seems  to  have 
preserved  his  serenity  of  spirit.  After  an  unpleas- 
ant interview  with  his  father,  on  one  occasion,  he 
wrote,  at  his  lodgings  in  an  inn,  in  London,  what 
he  calls  A  Song  of  Praise.  An  extract  from  it 
will  serve  to  show  the  spirit  of  the  good  man  in 
affliction  :  — 

"  Unto  the  Glory  of  Thy  Holy  Name, 

Eternal  God !  whom  I  both  love  and  fear, 

I  hereby  do  declare,  I  never  came 

Before  Thy  throne,  and  found  Thee  loath  to  hear, 
But  always  ready  with  an  open  ear ; 

And,  though  sometimes  Thou  seem'st  Thy  face  to  hide, 
As  one  that  had  withdrawn  his  love  from  me, 

'T  is  that  my  faith  may  to  the  full  be  tried, 
And  that  I  thereby  may  the  better  see 
How  weak  I  am  when  not  upheld  by  Thee  !  " 

The  next  year,  1670,  an  act  of  Parliament,  in 
relation  to  "  Conventicles,"  provided  that  any  per- 
son who  should  be  present  at  any  meeting,  under 
color  or  pretence  of  any  exercise  of  religion,  in 
other  manner  than  according  to  the  liturgy  and 
practice  of  the  Church  of  England,  "  should  be 
liable  to  fines  of  from  five  to  ten  shillings ;  and 
any  person  preaching  at  or  giving  his  house  for  the 
meeting,  to  a  fine  of  twenty  pounds  :  one  third  of 
the  fines  being  received  by  the  informer  or  inform- 
ers." As  a  natural  consequence  of  such  a  law,  the 


64  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

vilest  scoundrels  in  the  land  set  up  the  trade  of  in- 
formers and  heresy-hunters.  Wherever  a  dissent- 
ing meeting  or  burial  took  place,  there  was  sure 
to  be  a  mercenary  spy,  ready  to  bring  a  complaint 
against  all  in  attendance.  The  Independents  and 
Baptists  ceased,  in  a  great  measure,  to  hold  public 
meetings,  yet  even  they  did  not  escape  prosecution,, 
Bunyan,  for  instance,  in  these  days,  was  dreaming, 
like  another  Jacob,  of  angels  ascending  and  de- 
scending, in  Bedford  prison.  But  upon  the  poor 
Quakers  fell,  as  usual,  the  great  force  of  the  unjust 
enactment.  Some  of  these  spies  or  informers, 
men  of  sharp  wit,  close  countenances,  pliant  tem- 
pers, and  skill  in  dissimulation,  took  the  guise  of 
Quakers,  Independents,  or  Baptists,  as  occasion  re- 
quired, thrusting  themselves  into  the  meetings  of 
the  proscribed  sects,  ascertaining  the  number  who 
attended,  their  rank  and  condition,  and  then  in- 
forming against  them.  Ell  wood,  in  his  Journal  for 
1670,  describes  several  of  these  emissaries  of  evil. 
One  of  them  came  to  a  Friend's  house,  in  Bucks, 
professing  to  be  a  brother  in  the  faith,  but,  over- 
doing his  counterfeit  Quakerism,  was  detected  and 
dismissed  by  his  host.  Betaking  himself  to  the 
inn,  he  appeared  in  his  true  character,  drank  and 
swore  roundly,  and  confessed  over  his  cups  that  he 
had  been  sent  forth  on  his  mission  by  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Mew,  Vice-Chancellor  of  Oxford.  Finding  little 
success  in  counterfeiting  Quakerism,  he  turned  to 
the  Baptists,  where,  for  a  time,  he  met  with  better 
success.  Ellwood,  at  this  time,  rendered  good  ser- 
vice to  his  friends,  by  exposing  the  true  character 
of  these  wretches,  and  bringing  them  to  justice  for 
theft,  perjury,  and  other  misdemeanors. 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD  65 

While  this  storm  of  persecution  lasted,  (a  period 
of  two  or  three  years,)  the  different  dissenting  sects 
felt,  in  some  measure,  a  common  sympathy,  and, 
while  guarding  themselves  against  their  common 
foe,  had  little  leisure  for  controversy  with  each 
other ;  but,  as  was  natural,  the  abatement  of  their 
mutual  suffering  and  danger  was  the  signal  for  re- 
newing their  suspended  quarrels.  The  Baptists 
fell  upon  the  Quakers,  with  pamphlet  and  sermon  ; 
the  latter  replied  in  the  same  way.  One  of  the 
most  conspicuous  of  the  Baptist  disputants  was  the 
famous  Jeremy  Ives,  with  whom  our  friend  Ell- 
wood  seems  to  have  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble. 
"  His  name,"  says  Ellwood,  "  was  up  for  a  top- 
ping Disputant.  He  was  well  read  in  the  fallacies 
of  logic,  and  was  ready  in  framing  syllogisms.  His 
chief  art  lay  in  tickling  the  humor  of  rude,  un- 
learned, and  injudicious  hearers." 

The  following  piece  of  Ellwood's,  entitled  "  An 
Epitaph  for  Jeremy  Ives,"  will  serve  to  show  that 
wit  and  drollery  were  sometimes  found  even  among 
the  proverbially  sober  Quakers  of  the  seventeenth 
century :  — 

"  Beneath  this  stone,  depressed,  doth  lie 
The  Mirror  of  Hypocrisy  — 
Ives,  whose  mercenary  tongue 
Like  a  Weathercock  was  hung, 
And  did  this  or  that  way  play, 
As  Advantage  led  the  way. 
If  well  hired,  he  would  dispute, 
Otherwise  he  would  he  mute. 
But  he  'd  bawl  for  half  a  day, 
If  he  knew  and  liked  his  pay. 

"  For  his  person,  let  it  pass ; 
Only  note  his  face  was  brass. 


66  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

His  heart  was  like  a  pumice-stone, 
And  for  Conscience  he  had  none. 
Of  Earth  and  Air  he  was  composed, 
With  Water  round  about  enclosed. 
Earth  in  him  had  greatest  share, 
Questionless,  his  life  lay  there  ; 
Thence  his  cankered  Envy  sprung, 
Poisoning  both  his  heart  and  tongue. 

u  Air  made  him  frothy,  light,  and  vain, 
And  puffed  him  with  a  proud  disdain. 
Into  the  Water  oft  he  went, 
And  through  the  Water  many  sent : 
That  was,  ye  know,  his  element ! 
The  greatest  odds  that  did  appear 
Was  this,  for  aught  that  I  can  hear, 
That  he  in  cold  did  others  dip, 
But  did  himself  hot  water  sip. 

"  And  his  cause  he  'd  never  doubt, 
If  well  soak'd  o'er  night  in  Stout ; 
But,  meanwhile,  he  must  not  lack 
Brandy  and  a  draught  of  Sack. 
One  dispute  would  shrink  a  bottle 
Of  three  pints,  if  not  a  pottle. 
One  would  think  he  fetched  from  thence 
All  his  dreamy  eloquence. 

*'  Let  us  now  bring  back  the  Sot 
To  his  Aqua  Vita  pot, 
And  observe,  with  some  content, 
How  he  framed  his  argument. 
That  his  whistle  he  might  wet, 
The  bottle  to  his  mouth  he  set, 
And,  being  Master  of  that  Art, 
Thence  he  drew  the  Major  part, 
But  left  the  Minor  still  behind  ; 
Good  reason  why,  he  wanted  wind  ; 
If  his  breath  would  have  held  out, 
He  had  Conclusion  drawn,  no  doubt." 

The  residue   of  Ellwood's  life   seems  to  have 


Mr.  Whittier's  Stttdy,  Oak  Knoll,  Danvers 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD  67 

glided  on  in  serenity  and  peace.  He  wrote,  at 
intervals,  many  pamphlets  in  defence  of  his  So- 
ciety, and  in  favor  of  Liberty  of  Conscience.  At 
his  hospitable  residence,  the  leading  spirits  of  the 
sect  were  warmly  welcomed.  George  Fox  and 
William  Penn  seem  to  have  been  frequent  guests. 
We  find  that,  in  1683,  he  was  arrested  for  seditious 
publications,  when  on  the  eve  of  hastening  to  his 
early  friend,  Gulielma,  who,  in  the  absence  of  her 
husband,  Governor  Penn,  had  fallen  dangerously 
ill.  On  coming  before  the  judge,  "  I  told  him," 
says  Ellwood,  "  that  I  had  that  morning  received 
an  express  out  of  Sussex,  that  William  Penn's  wife 
(with  whom  I  had  an  intimate  acquaintance  and 
strict  friendship,  ab  ipsis  fere  incunabilis,  at  least, 
a  teneris  unguiculis)  lay  now  ill,  not  without  great 
danger,  and  that  she  had  expressed  her  desire  that 
I  would  come  to  her  as  soon  as  I  could."  The 
judge  said  "  he  was  very  sorry  for  Madam  Penn's 
illness,"  of  whose  virtues  he  spoke  very  highly,  but 
not  more  than  was  her  due.  Then  he  told  me, 
"  that,  for  her  sake,  he  would  do  what  he  could  to 
further  my  visit  to  her."  Escaping  from  the  hands 
of  the  law,  he  visited  his  friend,  who  was  by  this 
time  in  a  way  of  recovery,  and,  on  his  return, 
learned  that  the  prosecution  had  been  abandoned. 
At  about  this  date  his  narrative  ceases.  We 
learn,  from  other  sources,  that  he  continued  to 
write  and  print  in  defence  of  his  religious  views 
up  to  the  year  of  his  death,  which  took  place  in 
1713.  One  of  his  productions,  a  poetical  version 
of  the  Life  of  David,  may  be  still  met  with,  in  the 
old  Quaker  libraries.  On  the  score  of  poetical 


68  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

merit,  it  is  about  on  a  level  with  Michael  Drayton's 
verses  on  the  same  subject.  As  the  history  of  one 
of  the  firm  confessors  of  the  old  struggle  for  reli- 
gious freedom,  of  a  genial-hearted  and  pleasant 
scholar,  the  friend  of  Penn  and  Milton,  and  the 
suggester  of  Paradise  Regained,  we  trust  our 
hurried  sketch  has  not  been  altogether  without 
interest ;  and  that,  whatever  may  be  the  religious 
views  of  our  readers,  they  have  not  failed  to  recog- 
nize a  good  and  true  man  in  Thomas  Ellwood. 


JAMES  NAYLER. 

"You  will  here  read  the  true  story  of  that  much  injured,  ridi- 
culed man,  James  Nayler ;  what  dreadful  suiferings,  with  what 
patience  he  endured,  even  to  the  boring  of  the  tongue  with  hot 
irons,  without  a  murmur  ;  and  with  what  strength  of  mind,  when 
the  delusion  he  had  fallen  into,  which  they  stigmatized  as  blas- 
phemy, had  given  place  to  clearer  thoughts,  he  could  renounce 
his  error  in  a  strain  of  the  beautifullest  humility." — Essays  of 
Elia. 

"  WOULD  that  Carlyle  could  now  try  his  hand 
at  the  English  Revolution  !  "  was  our  exclamation, 
on  laying  down  the  last  volume  of  his  remark- 
able History  of  the  French  Revolution  with  its 
brilliant  and  startling  word-pictures  still  flashing 
before  us.  To  some  extent  this  wish  has  been 
realized  in  the  Letters  and  Speeches  of  Oliver 
Cromwell.  Yet  we  confess  that  the  perusal  of 
these  volumes  has  disappointed  us.  Instead  of 
giving  himself  free  scope,  as  in  his  French  Revolu- 
tion, and  transferring  to  his  canvas  all  the  wild  and 
ludicrous,  the  terrible  and  beautiful  phases  of  that 
moral  phenomenon,  he  has  here  concentrated  all 
his  artistic  skill  upon  a  single  figure,  whom  he 
seems  to  have  regarded  as  the  embodiment  and 
hero  of  the  great  event.  All  else  on  his  canvas  is 
subordinated  to  the  grim  image  of  the  colossal 
Puritan.  Intent  upon  presenting  him  as  the  fitting 
object  of  that  "hero-worship,"  which,  in  its  blind 
admiration  and  adoration  of  mere  abstract  Power, 


70  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

seems  to  us  at  times  nothing  less  than  devil-wor- 
ship, he  dwarfs,  casts  into  the  shadow,  nay,  in  some 
instances  caricatures  and  distorts,  the  figures  which 
surround  him.  To  excuse  Cromwell  in  his  usurpa- 
tion, Henry  Vane,  one  of  those  exalted  and  noble 
characters,  upon  whose  features  the  lights  held  by 
historical  friends  or  foes  detect  no  blemish,  is  dis- 
missed with  a  sneer  and  an  utterly  unfounded  im- 
putation of  dishonesty.  To  reconcile,  in  some  de- 
gree, the  discrepancy  between  the  declarations  of 
Cromwell,  in  behalf  of  freedom  of  conscience,  and 
that  mean  and  cruel  persecution  which  the  Quakers 
suffered  under  the  Protectorate,  the  generally  harm- 
less fanaticism  of  a  few  individuals  bearing  that 
name  is  gravely  urged.  Nay,  the  fact  that  some 
weak-brained  enthusiasts  undertook  to  bring  about 
the  millennium,  by  associating  together,  cultivating 
the  earth,  and  "  dibbling  beans  "  for  the  New- 
Jerusalem  market,  is  regarded  by  our  author  as 
the  "  germ  of  Quakerism  ; "  and  furnishes  an  oc- 
casion for  sneering  at  "my  poor  friend  Dryas- 
dust, lamentably  tearing  his  hair  over  the  intoler- 
ance of  that  old  time  to  Quakerism  and  such 
like." 

The  readers  of  this  (with  all  its  faults)  powerfully 
written  Biography  cannot  fail  to  have  been  im- 
pressed with  the  intensely  graphic  description 
(Part  I.,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  184,  185)  of  the  entry  of  the 
poor  fanatic,  James  Nayler,  and  his  forlorn  and 
draggled  companions  into  Bristol.  Sadly  ludicrous 
is  it ;  affecting  us  like  the  actual  sight  of  tragic  in- 
sanity enacting  its  involuntary  comedy,  and  mak- 
ing us  smile  through  our  tears. 


JAMES  NAYLER  71 

In  another  portion  of  the  work,  a  brief  account 
is  given  of  the  trial  and  sentence  of  Nayler,  also 
in  the  serio-comic  view;  and  the  poor  man  is 
dismissed  with  the  simple  intimation,  that  after  his 
punishment  he  "repented,  and  confessed  himself 
mad."  It  was  no  part  of  the  author's  business,  we 
are  well  aware,  to  waste  time  and  words  upon  the 
history  of  such  a  man  as  Nayler ;  he  was  of  no  im- 
portance to  him,  otherwise  than  as  one  of  the  dis- 
turbing influences  in  the  government  of  the  Lord 
Protector.  But  in  our  mind  the  story  of  James 
Nayler  has  always  been  one  of  interest ;  and  in 
the  belief  that  it  will  prove  so  to  others,  who,  like 
Charles  Lamb,  can  appreciate  the  beautiful  humil- 
ity of  a  forgiven  spirit,  we  have  taken  some  pains 
to  collect  and  embody  the  facts  of  it. 

James  Nayler  was  born  in  the  parish  of  Ardes- 
ley,  in  Yorkshire,  1616.  His  father  was  a  sub- 
stantial farmer,  of  good  repute  and  competent 
estate ;  and  he,  in  consequence,  received  a  good 
education.  At  the  age  of  twenty-two,  he  married 
and  removed  to  Wakefield  parish,  which  has  since 
been  made  classic  ground  by  the  pen  of  Goldsmith. 
Here,  an  honest,  God-fearing  farmer,  he  tilled  his 
soil,  and  alternated  between  cattle-markets  and 
Independent  conventicles.  In  1641,  he  obeyed 
the  summons  of  "  my  Lord  Fairfax  "  and  the  Par- 
liament, and  joined  a  troop  of  horse  composed  of 
sturdy  Independents,  doing  such  signal  service 
against  "  the  man  of  Belial,  Charles  Stuart,"  that 
he  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  quartermaster,  in 
which  capacity  he  served  under  General  Lambert, 
in  his  Scottish  campaign.  Disabled  at  length  by 


72  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

sickness,  he  was  honorably  dismissed  from  the  ser- 
vice, and  returned  to  his  family  in  1649. 

For  three  or  four  years,  he  continued  to  attend 
the  meetings  of  the  Independents,  as  a  zealous 
and  devout  member.  But  it  so  fell  out,  that  in  the 
winter  of  1651,  George  Fox,  who  had  just  been 
released  from  a  cruel  imprisonment  in  Derby  jail, 
felt  a  call  to  set  his  face  towards  Yorkshire.  "  So 
travelling,"  says  Fox,  in  his  Journal,  "  through  the 
countries,  to  several  places,  preaching  Repentance 
and  the  Word  of  Life,  I  came  into  the  parts  about 
Wakefield,  where  James  Nayler  lived."  The  worn 
and  weary  soldier,  covered  with  the  scars  of  out- 
ward  battle,  received,  as  he  believed,  in  the  cause 
of  God  and  his  people,  against  Antichrist  and 
oppression,  welcomed  with  thankfulness  the  vet- 
eran of  another  warfare  ;  who,  in  conflict  with 
"  principalities  and  powers,  and  spiritual  wicked- 
ness in  high  places,"  had  made  his  name  a  familiar 
one  in  every  English  hamlet.  "  He  and  Thomas 
Goodyear,"  says  Fox,  "  came  to  me,  and  were  both 
convinced,  and  received  the  truth."  He  soon  after 
joined  the  Society  of  Friends.  In  the  spring  of 
the  next  year  he  was  in  his  field  following  his 
plough,  and  meditating,  as  he  was  wont,  on  the 
great  questions  of  life  and  duty,  when  he  seemed  to 
hear  a  voice  bidding  him  go  out  from  his  kindred 
and  his  father's  house,  with  an  assurance  that  the 
Lord  would  be  with  him,  while  laboring  in  his  ser- 
vice. Deeply  impressed,  he  left  his  employment, 
and,  returning  to  his  house,  made  immediate  prepa- 
rations for  a  journey.  But  hesitation  and  doubt 
followed ;  he  became  sick  from  anxiety  of  mind,  and 


JAMES  NAYLER  73 

his  recovery,  for  a  time,  was  exceedingly  doubtful. 
On  his  restoration  to  bodily  health,  he  obeyed 
what  he  regarded  as  a  clear  intimation  of  duty, 
and  went  forth  a  preacher  of  the  doctrines  he  had 
embraced.  The  Independent  minister  of  the  so- 
ciety to  which  he  had  formerly  belonged  sent  after 
him  the  story  that  he  was  the  victim  of  sorcery ; 
that  George  Fox  carried  with  him  a  bottle,  out  of 
which  he  made  people  drink ;  and  that  the  draught 
had  the  power  to  change  a  Presbyterian  or  Inde- 
pendent into  a  Quaker  at  once  ;  that,  in  short,  the 
Arch-Quaker,  Fox,  was  a  wizard,  and  could  be  seen 
at  the  same  moment  of  time  riding  on  the  same 
black  horse,  in  two  places  widely  separated  !  He 
had  scarcely  commenced  his  exhortations,  before 
the  mob,  excited  by  such  stories,  assailed  him.  In 
the  early  summer  of  the  year  we  hear  of  him  in 
Appleby  jail.  On  his  release,  he  fell  in  company 
with  George  Fox.  At  Walney  Island,  he  was 
furiously  assaulted,  and  beaten  with  clubs  and 
stones ;  the  poor  priest-led  fishermen  being  fully 
persuaded  that  they  were  dealing  with  a  wizard. 
The  spirit  of  the  man,  under  these  circumstances, 
may  be  seen  in  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
to  his  friends,  dated  at  "  Killet,  in  Lancashire,  the 
30th  of  8th  Month,  1652  :  "  — 

"  Dear  friends !  Dwell  in  patience,  and  wait 
upon  the  Lord,  who  will  do  his  own  work.  Look 
not  at  man  who  is  in  the  work,  nor  at  any  man 
opposing  it ;  but  rest  in  the  will  of  the  Lord,  that 
so  ye  may  be  furnished  with  patience,  both  to  do 
and  to  suffer  what  ye  shall  be  called  unto,  that 
your  end  in  all  things  may  be  His  praise.  Meet 


74  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

often  together;  take  heed  of  what  exalteth  itself 
above  its  brother ;  but  keep  low,  and  serve  one  an- 
other in  love." 

Laboring  thus,  interrupted  only  by  persecution, 
stripes,  and  imprisonment,  he  finally  came  to  Lon- 
don, and  spoke  with  great  power  and  eloquence  in 
the  meetings  of  Friends  in  that  city.  Here  he  for 
the  first  time  found  himself  surrounded  by  admir- 
ing and  sympathizing  friends.  He  saw  and  re- 
joiced in  the  fruits  of  his  ministry.  Profane  and 
drunken  cavaliers,  intolerant  Presbyters,  and  blind 
Papists,  owned  the  truths  which  he  uttered,  and 
counted  themselves  his  disciples.  Women,  too,  in 
their  deep  trustfulness  and  admiring  reverence, 
sat  at  the  feet  of  the  eloquent  stranger.  Devout 
believers  in  the  doctrine  of  the  inward  light  and 
manifestation  of  God  in  the  heart  of  man,  these 
latter,  at  length,  thought  they  saw  such  unmistak- 
able evidences  of  the  true  life  in  James  Nayler, 
that  they  felt  constrained  to  declare  that  Christ 
was,  in  an  especial  manner,  within  him,  and  to  call 
upon  all  to  recognize  in  reverent  adoration  this 
new  incarnation  of  the  divine  and  heavenly.  The 
wild  enthusiasm  of  his  disciples  had  its  effect  on 
the  teacher.  Weak  in  body,  worn  with  sickness, 
fasting,  stripes,  and  prison-penance,  and  naturally 
credulous  and  imaginative,  is  it  strange  that  in 
some  measure  he  yielded  to  this  miserable  delu- 
sion ?  Let  those  who  would  harshly  judge  him,  or 
ascribe  his  fall  to  the  peculiar  doctrines  of  his  sect, 
think  of  Luther,  engaged  in  personal  combat  with 
the  Devil,  or  conversing  with  him  on  points  of 
theology  in  his  bed-chamber;  or  of  Bunyan  at  actual 


JAMES  NAYLER  75 

fisticuffs  with  the  adversary ;  or  of  Fleetwood  and 
Vane  and  Harrison  millennium-mad,  and  making 
preparations  for  an  earthly  reign  of  King  Jesus. 
It  was  an  age  of  intense  religious  excitement. 
Fanaticism  had  become  epidemic.  Cromwell 
swayed  his  Parliaments  by  "revelations"  and 
Scripture  phrases  in  the  painted  chamber;  stout 
generals  and  sea-captains  exterminated  the  Irish, 
and  swept  Dutch  navies  from  the  ocean,  with  old 
Jewish  war-cries,  and  hymns  of  Deborah  and  Mir- 
iam ;  country  justices  charged  juries  in  Hebraisms, 
and  cited  the  laws  of  Palestine  oftener  than  those 
of  England.  Poor  Nayler  found  himself  in  the 
very  midst  of  this  seething  and  confused  moral 
maelstrom.  He  struggled  against  it  for  a  time, 
but  human  nature  was  weak ;  he  became,  to  use 
his  own  words,  "  bewildered  and  darkened,"  and 
the  floods  went  over  him. 

Leaving  London  with  some  of  his  more  zealous 
followers,  not  without  solemn  admonition  and  re- 
buke from  Francis  Howgill  and  Edward  Burrough, 
who  at  that  period  were  regarded  as  the  most  emi- 
nent and  gifted  of  the  Society's  ministers,  he  bent 
his  steps  towards  Exeter.  Here,  in  consequence 
of  the  extravagance  of  his  language  and  that  of  his 
disciples,  he  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison. 
Several  infatuated  women  surrounded  the  jail,  de- 
claring that  "  Christ  was  in  prison,"  and  on  being 
admitted  to  see  him,  knelt  down  and  kissed  his 
feet,  exclaiming,  "Thy  name  shall  be  no  more 
called  James  Nayler,  but  Jesus !  "  Let  us  pity 
him  and  them.  They,  full  of  grateful  and  extrav- 
agant affection  for  the  man  whose  voice  had  called 


76  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

them  away  from  worldly  vanities  to  what  they  re- 
garded as  eternal  realities,  whose  hand  they  im- 
agined had  for  them  swung  back  the  pearl  gates 
of  the  celestial  city,  and  flooded  their  atmosphere 
with  light  from  heaven ;  he,  receiving  their 
homage  (not  as  offered  to  a  poor,  weak,  sinful 
Yorkshire  trooper,  but  rather  to  the  hidden  man  of 
the  heart,  the  "  Christ  within  "  him)  with  that 
self -deceiving  humility  which  is  but  another  name 
for  spiritual  pride.  Mournful,  yet  natural ;  such 
as  is  still  in  greater  or  less  degree  manifested  be- 
tween the  Catholic  enthusiast  and  her  confessor ; 
such  as  the  careful  observer  may  at  times  take 
note  of  in  our  Protestant  revivals  and  camp  meet- 
ings. 

How  Nayler  was  released  from  Exeter  jail  does 
not  appear,  but  the  next  we  hear  of  him  is  at  Bris- 
tol, in  the  fall  of  the  year.  His  entrance  into  that 
city  shows  the  progress  which  he  and  his  followers 
had  made  in  the  interval.  Let  us  look  at  Carlyle's 
description  of  it :  "A  procession  of  eight  persons 
—  one,  a  man  on  horseback  riding  single,  the 
others,  men  and  women  partly  riding  double,  partly 
on  foot,  in  the  muddiest  highway  in  the  wettest 
weather;  singing,  all  but  the  single  rider,  at 
whose  bridle  walk  and  splash  two  women,  '  Hosan- 
nah !  Holy,  holy !  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth,'  and 
other  things,  '  in  a  buzzing  tone,'  which  the  im- 
partial hearer  could  not  make  out.  The  single 
rider  is  a  raw-boned  male  figure,  '  with  lank  hair 
reaching  below  his  cheeks,'  hat  drawn  close  over 
his  brows,  '  nose  rising  slightly  in  the  middle,'  of 
abstruse  '  down  look,'  and  large  dangerous  jaws 


JAMES  NAYLER  77 

strictly  closed :  he  sings  not,  sits  there  covered, 
and  is  sung  to  by  the  others  bare.  Amid  pouring 
deluges  and  mud  knee-deep,  *  so  that  the  rain  ran 
in  at  their  necks  and  vented  it  at  their  hose  and 
breeches  : '  a  spectacle  to  the  West  of  England  and 
posterity  !  Singing  as  above ;  answering  no  ques- 
tion except  in  song.  From  Bedminster  to  Rat- 
cliffgate,  along  the  streets  to  the  High  Cross  of 
Bristol :  at  the  High  Cross  they  are  laid  hold  of 
by  the  authorities :  turn  out  to  be  James  Nayler 
and  Company." 

Truly,  a  more  pitiful  example  of  "  hero-worship  " 
is  not  well  to  be  conceived  of.  Instead  of  taking 
the  rational  view  of  it,  however,  and  mercifully 
shutting  up  the  actors  in  a  mad-house,  the  authori- 
ties of  that  day,  conceiving  it  to  be  a  stupendous 
blasphemy,  and  themselves  God's  avengers  in  the 
matter,  sent  Nayler  under  strong  guard  up  to  Lon- 
don, to  be  examined  before  the  Parliament.  After 
long  and  tedious  examinations  and  cross-question- 
ings, and  still  more  tedious  debates,  some  portion 
of  which,  not  uninstructive  to  the  reader,  may  still 
be  found  in  Burton's  Diary,  the  following  hor- 
rible resolution  was  agreed  upon :  — 

"  That  James  Nayler  be  set  in  the  pillory,  with 
his  head  in  the  pillory  in  the  Palace  Yard,  West- 
minster, during  the  space  of  two  hours  on  Thurs- 
day next ;  and  be  whipped  by  the  hangman 
through  the  streets  from  Westminster  to  the  Old 
Exchange,  and  there,  likewise,  be  set  in  the  pil- 
lory, with  his  head  in  the  pillory  for  the  space  of 
two  hours,  between  eleven  and  one,  on  Saturday 
next,  in  each  place  wearing  a  paper  containing  a 


78  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

description  of  his  crimes ;  and  that  at  the  Old 
Exchange  his  tongue  be  bored  through  with  a  hot 
iron,  and  that  he  be  there  stigmatized  on  the  fore- 
head with  the  letter  '  B ; '  and  that  he  be  after- 
wards sent  to  Bristol,  to  be  conveyed  into  and 
through  the  said  city  on  horseback  with  his  face 
backward,  and  there,  also,  publicly  whipped  the 
next  market-day  after  he  comes  thither  ;  that  from 
thence  he  be  committed  to  prison  in  Bridewell, 
London,  and  there  restrained  from  the  society  of 
all  people,  and  there  to  labor  hard  until  he  shall 
be  released  by  Parliament ;  and  during  that  time 
be  debarred  the  use  of  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and 
have  no  relief  except  what  he  earns  by  his  daily 
labor." 

Such,  neither  more  nor  less,  was,  in  the  opinion 
of  Parliament,  required  on  their  part  to  appease 
the  divine  vengeance.  The  sentence  was  pro- 
nounced on  the  17th  of  the  twelfth  month ;  the 
entire  time  of  the  Parliament  for  the  two  months 
previous  having  been  occupied  with  the  case.  The 
Presbyterians  in  that  body  were  ready  enough  to 
make  the  most  of  an  offence  committed  by  one 
who  had  been  an  Independent ;  the  Independents, 
to  escape  the  stigma  of  extenuating  the  crimes  of 
one  of  their  quondam  brethren,  vied  with  their  an- 
tagonists in  shrieking  over  the  atrocity  of  Nayler's 
blasphemy,  and  in  urging  its  severe  punishment. 
Here  and  there  among  both  classes  were  men  dis- 
posed to  leniency,  and  more  than  one  earnest  plea 
was  made  for  merciful  dealing  with  a  man  whose 
reason  was  evidently  unsettled,  and  who  was,  there- 
fore, a  fitting  object  of  compassion ;  whose  crime, 


JAMES  NAYLER  79 

if  it  could  indeed  be  called  one,  was  evidently  the 
result  of  a  clouded  intellect,  and  not  of  wilful  in- 
tention of  evil.  On  the  other  hand,  many  were  in 
favor  of  putting  him  to  death  as  a  sort  of  peace- 
offering  to  the  clergy,  who,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
were  greatly  scandalized  by  Nayler's  blasphemy, 
and  still  more  by  the  refusal  of  his  sect  to  pay 
tithes,  or  recognize  their  divine  commission. 

Nayler  was  called  into  the  Parliament-house  to 
receive  his  sentence.  "  I  do  not  know  mine 
offence,"  he  said  mildly.  "You  shall  know  it," 
said  Sir  Thomas  Widrington,  "  by  your  sentence." 
When  the  sentence  was  read,  he  attempted  to 
speak,  but  was  silenced.  "  I  pray  God,"  said  Nay- 
ler, "  that  he  may  not  lay  this  to  your  charge." 

The  next  day,  the  18th  of  the  twelfth  month, 
he  stood  in  the  pillory  two  hours,  in  the  chill  win- 
ter air,  and  was  then  stripped  and  scourged  by  the 
hangman  at  the  tail  of  a  cart  through  the  streets. 
Three  hundred  and  ten  stripes  were  inflicted  ;  his 
back  and  arms  were  horribly  cut  and  mangled,  and 
his  feet  crushed  and  bruised  by  the  feet  of  horses 
treading  on  him  in  the  crowd.  He  bore  all  with 
uncomplaining  patience  ;  but  was  so  far  exhausted 
by  his  sufferings,  that  it  was  found  necessary  to 
postpone  the  execution  of  the  residue  of  the  sen- 
tence for  one  week.  The  terrible  severity  of  his 
sentence,  and  his  meek  endurance  of  it,  had  in  the 
mean  time  powerfully  affected  many  of  the  humane 
and  generous  of  all  classes  in  the  city ;  and  a  pe- 
tition for  the  remission  of  the  remaining  part  of 
the  penalty  was  numerously  signed  and  presented 
to  Parliament.  A  debate  ensued  upon  it,  but  its 


80  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

prayer  was  rejected.  Application  was  then  made 
to  Cromwell,  who  addressed  a  letter  to  the  Speaker 
of  the  House,  inquiring  into  the  affair,  protesting 
an  "  abhorrence  and  detestation  of  giving  or  occa- 
sioning the  least  countenance  to  such  opinions  and 
practices  "  as  were  imputed  to  Nayler ;  "  yet  we, 
being  intrusted  in  the  present  government  on  be- 
half of  the  people  of  these  nations,  and  not  know- 
ing how  far  such  proceeding  entered  into  wholly 
without  us  may  extend  in  the  consequence  of  it, 
do  hereby  desire  the  House  may  let  us  know  the 
grounds  and  reasons  whereon  they  have  proceeded." 
From  this,  it  is  not  unlikely  that  the  Protector 
might  have  been  disposed  to  clemency,  and  to  look 
with  a  degree  of  charity  upon  the  weakness  and 
errors  of  one  of  his  old  and  tried  soldiers  who  had 
striven  like  a  brave  man,  as  he  was,  for  the  rights 
and  liberties  of  Englishmen ;  but  the  clergy  here 
interposed,  and  vehemently,  in  the  name  of  God 
and  His.  Church,  demanded  that  the  executioner 
should  finish  his  work.  Five  of  the  most  eminent 
of  them,  names  well  known  in  the  Protectorate, 
Caryl,  Manton,  Nye,  Griffith,  and  Reynolds,  were 
deputed  by  Parliament  to  visit  the  mangled  pris- 
oner. A  reasonable  request  was  made,  that  some 
impartial  person  might  be  present,  that  justice 
might  be  done  Nayler  in  the  report  of  his  answers. 
This  was  refused.  It  was,  however,  agreed  that 
the  conversation  should  be  written  down  and  a 
copy  of  it  left  with  the  jailer.  He  was  asked  if 
he  was  sorry  for  his  blasphemies.  He  said  he  did 
not  know  to  what  blasphemies  they  alluded ;  that 
he  did  believe  in  Jesus  Christ ;  that  He  had  taken 


JAMES  NAYLER  81 

up  His  dwelling  in  his  own  heart,  and  for  the  tes- 
timony of  Him  he  now  suffered.  "I  believe," 
said  one  of  the  ministers,  "  in  a  Christ  who  was 
never  in  any  man's  heart."  "  I  know  no  such 
Christ,"  rejoined  the  prisoner ;  "  the  Christ  I  wit- 
ness to  fills  Heaven  and  Earth,  and  dwells  in  the 
hearts  of  all  true  believers."  On  being  asked 
why  he  allowed  the  women  to  adore  and  worship 
him,  he  said  he  "  denied  bowing  to  the  creature ; 
but  if  they  beheld  the  power  of  Christ,  wherever 
it  was,  and  bowed  to  it,  he  could  not  resist  it,  or 
say  aught  against  it." 

After  some  further  parley,  the  reverend  visitors 
grew  angry,  threw  the  written  record  of  the  con- 
versation in  the  fire,  and  left  the  prison,  to  report 
the  prisoner  incorrigible. 

On  the  27th  of  the  month,  he  was  again  led  out 
of  his  cell  and  placed  upon  the  pillory.  Thousands 
of  citizens  were  gathered  around,  many  of  them 
earnestly  protesting  against  the  extreme  cruelty  of 
his  punishment.  Robert  Rich,  an  influential  and 
honorable  merchant,  followed  him  up  to  the  pillory 
with  expressions  of  great  sympathy,  and  held  him 
by  the  hand  while  the  red-hot  iron  was  pressed 
through  his  tongue  and  the  brand  was  placed  on 
his  forehead.  He  was  next  sent  to  Bristol,  and 
publicly  whipped  through  the  principal  streets  of 
that  city ;  and  again  brought  back  to  the  Bride- 
well prison,  where  he  remained  about  two  years, 
shut  out  from  all  intercourse  with  his  fellow-beings. 
At  the  expiration  of  this  period,  he  was  released 
by  order  of  Parliament.  In  the  solitude  of  his 
cell,  the  angel  of  patience  had  been  with  him. 


82 

Through  the  cloud  which  had  so  long  rested  over 
him,  the  clear  light  of  truth  shone  in  upon  his 
spirit ;  the  weltering  chaos  of  a  disordered  intellect 
settled  into  the  calm  peace  of  a  reconciliation  with 
God  and  man.  His  first  act  on  leaving  prison  was 
to  visit  Bristol,  the  scene  of  his  melancholy  fall. 
There  he  publicly  confessed  his  errors,  in  the  elo- 
quent earnestness  of  a  contrite  spirit,  humbled  in 
view  of  the  past,  yet  full  of  thanksgiving  and  praise 
for  the  great  boon  of  forgiveness.  A  writer  who 
was  present  says,  the  "  assembly  was  tendered,  and 
broken  into  tears ;  there  were  few  dry  eyes,  and 
many  were  bowed  in  their  minds." 

In  a  paper  which  he  published  soon  after,  he 
acknowledges  his  lamentable  delusion.  "  Con- 
demned forever,"  he  says,  "  be  all  those  false 
worships  with  which  any  have  idolized  my  person 
in  that  Night  of  my  Temptation,  when  the  Power 
of  Darkness  was  above  me ;  all  that  did  in  any 
way  tend  to  dishonor  the  Lord,  or  draw  the  minds 
of  any  from  the  measure  of  Christ  Jesus  in  them- 
selves, to  look  at  flesh,  which  is  as  grass,  or  to 
ascribe  that  to  the  visible  which  belongs  to  Him." 
"  Darkness  came  over  me  through  want  of  watch- 
fulness and  obedience  to  the  pure  Eye  of  God. 
I  was  taken  captive  from  the  true  light ;  I  was 
walking  in  the  Night,  as  a  wandering  bird  fit  for 
a  prey.  And  if  the  Lord  of  all  my  mercies  had 
not  rescued  me,  I  had  perished  ;  for  I  was  as  one 
appointed  to  death  and  destruction,  and  there  was 
none  to  deliver  me."  "It  is  in  my  heart  to  con- 
fess to  God,  and  before  men,  my  folly  and  offence 
in  that  day ;  yet  there  were  many  things  formed 


JAMES  NAYLER  83 

against  me  in  that  day,  to  take  away  my  life  and 
bring  scandal  upon  the  truth,  of  which  I  was  not 
guilty  at  all."  "  The  provocation  of  that  Time  of 
Temptation  was  exceeding  great  against  the  Lord, 
yet  He  left  me  not ;  for  when  Darkness  was  above, 
and  the  Adversary  so  prevailed  that  all  things 
were  turned  and  perverted  against  my  right  seeing, 
hearing,  or  understanding,  only  a  secret  hope  and 
faith  I  had  in  my  God,  whom  I  had  served,  that 
He  would  bring  me  through  it  and  to  the  end  of  it, 
and  that  I  should  again  see  the  day  of  my  redemp- 
tion from  under  it  all,  —  this  quieted  my  soul  in  its 
greatest  tribulation."  He  concludes  his  confession 
with  these  words :  "  He  who  hath  saved  my  soul 
from  death,  who  hath  lifted  my  feet  up  out  of  the 
pit,  even  to  Him  be  glory  forever ;  and  let  every 
troubled  soul  trust  in  Him,  for  his  mercy  endureth 
forever !  " 

Among  his  papers,  written  soon  after  his  release, 
is  a  remarkable  prayer,  or  rather  thanksgiving. 
The  limit  I  have  prescribed  to  myself  will  only 
allow  me  to  copy  an  extract :  — 

"  It  is  in  my  heart  to  praise  Thee,  O  my  God  ! 
Let  me  never  forget  Thee,  what  Thou  hast  been  to 
me  in  the  night,  by  Thy  presence  in  my  hour  of 
trial,  when  I  was  beset  in  darkness,  when  I  was 
cast  out  as  a  wandering  bird ;  when  I  was  as- 
saulted with  strong  temptations,  then  Thy  pres- 
ence, in  secret,  did  preserve  me,  and  in  a  low 
state  I  felt  Thee  near  me;  when  my  way  was 
through  the  sea,  when  I  passed  under  the  moun- 
tains, there  wast  Thou  present  with  me  ;  when  the 
weight  of  the  hills  was  upon  me,  Thou  upheldest 


84  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

me.  Thou  didst  fight,  on  my  part,  when  I  wres- 
tled with  death  ;  when  darkness  would  have  shut 
me  up,  Thy  light  shone  about  me ;  when  my  work 
was  in  the  furnace,  and  I  passed  through  the  fire, 
by  Thee  I  was  not  consumed ;  when  I  beheld  the 
dreadful  visions,  and  was  among  the  fiery  spirits, 
Thy  faith  staid  me,  else  through  fear  I  had  fallen. 
I  saw  Thee,  and  believed,  so  that  the  enemy  could 
not  prevail."  After  speaking  of  his  humiliation 
and  sufferings,  which  Divine  Mercy  had  overruled 
for  his  spiritual  good,  he  thus  concludes  :  "  Thou 
didst  lift  me  out  from  the  pit,  and  set  me  forth  in 
the  sight  of  my  enemies ;  Thou  proclaimedst  liberty 
to  the  captive;  Thou  calledst  my  acquaintances 
near  me ;  they  to  whom  I  had  been  a  wonder 
looked  upon  me ;  and  in  Thy  love  I  obtained 
favor  with  those  who  had  deserted  me.  Then  did 
gladness  swallow  up  sorrow,  and  I  forsook  my 
troubles ;  and  I  said,  How  good  is  it  that  man  be 
proved  in  the  night,  that  he  may  know  his  folly, 
that  every  mouth  may  become  silent,  until  Thou 
makest  man  known  unto  himself,  and  has  slain  the 
boaster,  and  shown  him  the  vanity  which  vexeth 
Thy  spirit." 

All  honor  to  the  Quakers  of  that  day,  that,  at 
the  risk  of  misrepresentation  and  calumny,  they 
received  back  to  their  communion  their  greatly 
erring,  but  deeply  repentant,  brother.  His  life, 
ever  after,  was  one  of  self-denial  and  jealous  watch- 
fulness over  himself,  —  blameless  and  beautiful  in 
its  humility  and  lowly  charity. 

Thomas  Ellwood,  in  his  autobiography  for  the 
year  1659,  mentions  Nayler,  whom  he  met  in  com' 


JAMES  NAYLER  85 

pany  with  Edward  Burrough  at  the  house  of  Mil- 
ton's friend,  Pennington.  Ellwood's  father  held  a 
discourse  with  the  two  Quakers  on  their  doctrine 
of  free  and  universal  grace.  "  James  Nailer," 
says  Ellwood,  "  handled  the  subject  with  so  much 
perspicuity  and  clear  demonstration,  that  his  rea- 
soning seemed  to  be  irresistible.  As  for  Edward 
Burrough,  he  was  a  brisk  young  Man,  of  a  ready 
Tongue,  and  might  have  been  for  aught  I  then 
knew,  a  Scholar,  which  made  me  less  admire  his 
Way  of  Reasoning.  But  what  dropt  from  James 
Nailer  had  the  greater  Force  upon  me,  because  he 
lookt  like  a  simple  Countryman,  having  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  Husbandman  or  Shepherd." 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  eighth  month,  1660,  he 
left  London  on  foot,  to  visit  his  wife  and  children 
in  Wakefield.  As  he  journeyed  on,  the  sense  of  a 
solemn  change  about  to  take  place  seemed  with 
him ;  the  shadow  of  the  eternal  world  fell  over 
him.  As  he  passed  through  Huntingdon,  a  friend 
who  saw  him  describes  him  as  "  in  an  awful  and 
weighty  frame  of  mind,  as  if  he  had  been  redeemed 
from  earth,  and  a  stranger  on  it,  seeking  a  better 
home  and  inheritance."  A  few  miles  beyond  the 
town,  he  was  found,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
very  ill,  and  was  taken  to  the  house  of  a  friend, 
who  lived  not  far  distant.  He  died  shortly  after, 
expressing  his  gratitude  for  the  kindness  of  his 
attendants,  and  invoking  blessings  upon  them. 
About  two  hours  before  his  death,  he  spoke  to  the 
friend  at  his  bedside  these  remarkable  words,  sol- 
emn as  eternity,  and  beautiful  as  the  love  which 
fills  it:  — 


86  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"  There  is  a  spirit  which  I  feel  which  delights  to 
do  no  evil,  nor  to  avenge  any  wrong ;  but  delights 
to  endure  all  things,  in  hope  to  enjoy  its  own  in 
the  end ;  its  hope  is  to  outlive  all  wrath  and  con- 
tention, and  to  weary  out  all  exultation  and  cruelty, 
or  whatever  is  of  a  nature  contrary  to  itself.  It 
sees  to  the  end  of  all  temptations  ;  as  it  bears  no 
evil  in  itself,  so  it  conceives  none  in  thought  to  any 
other :  if  it  be  betrayed,  it  bears  it,  for  its  ground 
and  spring  is  the  mercy  and  forgiveness  of  God. 
Its  crown  is  meekness  ;  its  life  is  everlasting  love 
unfeigned ;  it  takes  its  kingdom  with  entreaty,  and 
not  with  contention,  and  keeps  it  by  lowliness  of 
mind.  In  God  alone  it  can  rejoice,  though  none 
else  regard  it,  or  can  own  its  life.  It  is  conceived 
in  sorrow,  and  brought  forth  with  none  to  pity  it ; 
nor  doth  it  murmur  at  grief  and  oppression.  It 
never  rejoiceth  but  through  sufferings,  for  with  the 
world's  joy  it  is  murdered.  I  found  it  alone,  being 
forsaken.  I  have  fellowship  therein  with  them 
who  lived  in  dens  and  desolate  places  of  the  earth, 
who  through  death  obtained  resurrection  and  eter- 
nal Holy  Life." 

So  died  James  Nayler.  He  was  buried  in 
"  Thomas  Parnell's  burying-ground,  at  King's  Rip- 
pon,"  in  a  green  nook  of  rural  England.  Wrong 
and  violence,  and  temptation  and  sorrow,  and  evil- 
speaking,  could  reach  him  no  more.  And  in  tak- 
ing leave  of  him,  let  us  say,  with  old  Joseph  Wyeth, 
where  he  touches  upon  this  case  in  his  Anguis  Fla- 
gellatus  :  "  Let  none  insult,  but  take  heed  lest  they 
also,  in  the  hour  of  their  temptation,  do  fall  away." 


ANDREW  MARVELL. 

"  They  who  with  a  good  conscience  and  an  npright  heart  do 
their  civil  duties  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  in  their  several  places, 
to  resist  tyranny  and  the  violence  of  superstition  banded  both 
against  them,  will  never  seek  to  be  forgiven  that  which  may 
justly  be  attributed  to  their  immortal  praise."  —  Answer  to  Eikon 
Basilike. 

AMONG  the  great  names  which  adorned  the  Pro- 
tectorate, —  that  period  of  intense  mental  activity, 
when  political  and  religious  rights  and  duties  were 
thoroughly  discussed  by  strong  and  earnest  states- 
men and  theologians,  —  that  of  Andrew  Marvel], 
the  friend  of  Milton,  and  Latin  Secretary  of  Crom- 
well, deserves  honorable  mention.  The  magnificent 
prose  of  Milton,  long  neglected,  is  now  perhaps  as 
frequently  read  as  his  great  epic  ;  but  the  writings 
of  his  friend  and  fellow  secretary,  devoted  like  his 
own  to  the  cause  of  freedom  and  the  rights  of  the 
people,  are  scarcely  known  to  the  present  genera- 
tion. It  is  true  that  Marvell's  political  pamphlets 
were  less  elaborate  and  profound  than  those  of  the 
author  of  the  glorious  Defence  of  Unlicensed  Print- 
ing. He  was  light,  playful,  witty,  and  sarcastic ; 
he  lacked  the  stern  dignity,  the  terrible  invective, 
the  bitter  scorn,  the  crushing,  annihilating  retort, 
the  grand  and  solemn  eloquence,  and  the  devout 
appeals,  which  render  immortal  the  controversial 
works  of  Milton.  But  he,  too,  has  left  his  foot- 


88  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

prints  on  his  age  ;  he,  too,  has  written  for  posterity 
that  which  they  "  will  not  willingly  let  die."  As 
one  of  the  inflexible  defenders  of  English  liberty, 
sowers  of  the  seed,  the  fruits  of  which  we  are  now 
reaping,  he  has  a  higher  claim  on  the  kind  regards 
of  this  generation  than  his  merits  as  a  poet,  by  no 
means  inconsiderable,  would  warrant. 

Andrew  Marvell  was  born  in  Kingston-upon- 
Hull,  in  1620.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  entered 
Trinity  College,  whence  he  was  enticed  by  the 
Jesuits,  then  actively  seeking  proselytes.  After 
remaining  with  them  a  short  time,  his  father  found 
him,  and  brought  him  back  to  his  studies.  On 
leaving  college,  he  travelled  on  the  Continent.  At 
Rome  he  wrote  his  first  satire,  a  humorous  critique 
upon  Richard  Flecknoe,  an  English  Jesuit  and 
verse  writer,  whose  lines  on  Silence  Charles  Lamb 
quotes  in  one  of  his  Essays.  It  is  supposed  that 
he  made  his  first  acquaintance  with  Milton  in  Italy. 

At  Paris  he  made  the  Abbot  de  Manihan  the 
subject  of  another  satire.  The  Abbot  pretended  to 
skill  in  the  arts  of  magic,  and  used  to  prognosti- 
cate the  fortunes  of  people  from  the  character  of 
their  handwriting.  At  what  period  he  returned 
from  his  travels  we  are  not  aware.  It  is  stated, 
by  some  of  his  biographers,  that  he  was  sent  as 
secretary  of  a  Turkish  mission.  In  1653,  he  was 
appointed  the  tutor  of  Cromwell's  nephew ;  and, 
four  years  after,  doubtless  through  the  instrumen- 
tality of  his  friend  Milton,  he  received  the  honora- 
ble appointment  of  Latin  Secretary  of  the  Com- 
monwealth. In  1658,  he  was  selected  by  his 
townsmen  of  Hull  to  represent  them  in  Parlia- 


ANDREW  MARVELL  89 

ment.  In  this  service  he  continued  until  1663, 
when,  notwithstanding  his  sturdy  republican  prin- 
ciples, he  was  appointed  secretary  to  the  Russian 
embassy.  On  his  return,  in  1665,  he  was  again 
elected  to  Parliament,  and  continued  in  the  public 
service  until  the  prorogation  of  the  Parliament  of 
1675. 

The  boldness,  the  uncompromising  integrity  and 
irreproachable  consistency  of  Marvell,  as  a  states- 
man, have  secured  for  him  the  honorable  appella- 
tion of  "  the  British  Aristides."  Unlike  too  many 
of  his  old  associates  under  the  Protectorate,  he  did 
not  change  with  the  times.  He  was  a  republican 
in  Cromwell's  day,  and  neither  threats  of  assassi- 
nation, nor  flatteries,  nor  proffered  bribes,  could 
make  him  anything  else  in  that  of  Charles  II.  He 
advocated  the  rights  of  the  people  at  a  time  when 
patriotism  was  regarded  as  ridiculous  folly  ;  when 
a  general  corruption,  spreading  downwards  from  a 
lewd  and  abominable  Court,  had  made  legislation 
a  mere  scramble  for  place  and  emolument.  Eng- 
lish history  presents  no  period  so  disgraceful  as 
the  Restoration.  To  use  the  words  of  Macaulay, 
it  was  "  a  day  of  servitude  without  loyalty  and 
sensuality  without  love,  of  dwarfish  talents  and 
gigantic  vices,  the  paradise  of  cold  hearts  and  nar- 
row minds,  the  golden  age  of  the  coward,  the  bigot, 
and  the  slave.  The  principles  of  liberty  were  the 
scoff  of  every  grinning  courtier,  and  the  Anathema 
Maranatha  of  every  fawning  dean."  It  is  the  pe- 
culiar merit  of  Milton  and  Marvell,  that  in  such 
an  age  they  held  fast  their  integrity,  standing  up 
in  glorious  contrast  with  clerical  apostates  and 
traitors  to  the  cause  of  England's  liberty. 


90  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

In  the  discharge  of  his  duties  as  a  statesman 
Marvell  was  as  punctual  and  conscientious  as  our 
own  venerable  Apostle  of  Freedom,  John  Quincy 
Adams.  He  corresponded  every  post  with  his  con- 
stituents, keeping  them  fully  apprised  of  all  that 
transpired  at  Court  or  in  Parliament.  He  spoke 
but  seldom,  but  his  great  personal  influence  was 
exerted  privately  upon  the  members  of  the  Com- 
mons as  well  as  upon  the  Peers.  His  wit,  accom- 
plished manners,  and  literary  eminence  made  him 
a  favorite  at  the  Court  itself.  The  voluptuous 
and  careless  monarch  laughed  over  the  biting  sat- 
ire of  the  republican  poet,  and  heartily  enjoyed 
his  lively  conversation.  It  is  said  that  numerous 
advances  were  made  to  him  by  the  courtiers  of 
Charles  II.,  but  he  was  found  to  be  incorruptible. 
The  personal  compliments  of  the  King,  the  enco- 
miums of  Rochester,  the  smiles  and  flatteries  of  the 
frail  but  fair  and  high-born  ladies  of  the  Court ; 
nay,  even  the  golden  offers  of  the  King's  treas- 
urer, who,  climbing  with  difficulty  to  his  obscure 
retreat  on  an  upper  floor  of  a  court  in  the  Strand, 
laid  a  tempting  bribe  of  <£1,000  before  him,  on  the 
very  day  when  he  had  been  compelled  to  borrow  a 
guinea,  were  all  lost  upon  the  inflexible  patriot. 
He  stood  up  manfully,  in  an  age  of  persecution,  for 
religious  liberty,  opposed  the  oppressive  excise, 
and  demanded  frequent  Parliaments  and  a  fair 
representation  of  the  people. 

In  1672,  Marvell  engaged  in  a  controversy  with 
the  famous  High-Churchman,  Dr.  Parker,  who  had 
taken  the  lead  in  urging  the  persecution  of  Non- 
conformists. In  one  of  the  works  of  this  arrogant 


ANDREW  MARVELL  91 

divine,  he  says  that  "  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
the  peace  and  government  of  the  world  that  the 
supreme  magistrate  should  be  vested  with  power 
to  govern  and  conduct  the  consciences  of  subjects 
in  affairs  of  religion.  Princes  may  with  less  haz- 
ard give  liberty  to  men's  vices  and  debaucheries 
than  to  their  consciences."  And,  speaking  of  the 
various  sects  of  Non-conformists,  he  counsels  princes 
and  legislators  that  "tenderness  and  indulgence 
to  such  men  is  to  nourish  vipers  in  their  own  bow- 
els, and  the  most  sottish  neglect  of  our  quiet  and 
security."  Mar  veil  replied  to  him  in  a  severely 
satirical  pamphlet,  which  provoked  a  reply  from 
the  Doctor.  Marvell  rejoined,  with  a  rare  combi- 
nation of  wit  and  argument.  The  effect  of  his 
sarcasm  on  the  Doctor  and  his  supporters  may  be 
inferred  from  an  anonymous  note  sent  him,  in 
which  the  writer  threatens  by  the  eternal  God  to 
cut  his  throat,  if  he  uttered  any  more  libels  upon 
Dr.  Parker.  Bishop  Burnet  remarks  that  "  Mar- 
vell writ  in  a  burlesque  strain,  but  with  so  peculiar 
and  so  entertaining  a  conduct  that  from  the  King 
down  to  the  tradesman  his  books  were  read  with 
great  pleasure,  and  not  only  humbled  Parker,  but 
his  whole  party,  for  Marvell  had  all  the  wits  on 
his  side."  The  Bishop  further  remarks  that  Mar- 
veil's  satire  "  gave  occasion  to  the  only  piece  of 
modesty  with  which  Dr.  Parker  was  ever  charged, 
namely,  of  withdrawing  from  town,  and  not  impor- 
tuning the  press  for  some  years,  since  even  a  face 
of  brass  must  grow  red  when  it  is  burnt  as  his  has 
been." 

Dean  Swift,  in  commenting  upon  the  usual  fate 


92  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

of  controversial  pamphlets,  which  seldom  live  be- 
yond their  generation,  says :  "  There  is  indeed 
an  exception,  when  a  great  genius  undertakes  to 
expose  a  foolish  piece ;  so  we  still  read  Marvell's 
answer  to  Parker  with  pleasure,  though  the  book 
it  answers  be  sunk  long  ago." 

Perhaps,  in  the  entire  compass  of  our  language, 
there  is  not  to  be  found  a  finer  piece  of  satirical 
writing  than  Marvell's  famous  parody  of  the 
speeches  of  Charles  II.,  in  which  the  private  vices 
and  public  inconsistencies  of  the  King,  and  his 
gross  violations  of  his  pledges  on  coming  to  the 
throne,  are  exposed  with  the  keenest  wit  and  the 
most  laugh-provoking  irony.  Charles  himself,  al- 
though doubtless  annoyed  by  it,  could  not  refrain 
from  joining  in  the  mirth  which  it  excited  at  his 
expense. 

The  friendship  between  Marvell  and  Milton  re- 
mained firm  and  unbroken  to  the  last.  The  former 
exerted  himself  to  save  his  illustrious  friend  from 
persecution,  and  omitted  no  opportunity  to  defend 
him  as  a  politician  and  to  eulogize  him  as  a  poet. 
In  1654  he  presented  to  Cromwell  Milton's  noble 
tract  in  Defence  of  the  People  of  England,  and,  in 
writing  to  the  author,  says  of  the  work,  "  When  I 
consider  how  equally  it  teems  and  rises  with  so 
many  figures,  it  seems  to  me  a  Trajan's  column,  in 
whose  winding  ascent  we  see  embossed  the  several 
monuments  of  your  learned  victories."  He  was 
one  of  the  first  to  appreciate  Paradise  Lost,  and  to 
commend  it  in  some  admirable  lines.  One  couplet 
is  exceedingly  beautiful,  in  its  reference  to  the  au- 
thor's blindness :  — 


ANDREW  MARVELL  93 

"  Just  Heaven,  thee  like  Tiresias  to  requite, 
Rewards  with  prophecy  thy  loss  of  sight." 

His  poems,  written  in  the  "  snatched  leisure  "  of 
an  active  political  life,  bear  marks  of  haste,  and 
are  very  unequal.  In  the  midst  of  passages  of 
pastoral  description  worthy  of  Milton  himself, 
feeble  lines  and  hackneyed  phrases  occur.  His 
Nymph  lamenting  the  Death  of  her  Fawn  is  a 
finished  and  elaborate  piece,  full  of  grace  and  ten- 
derness. Thoughts  in  a  Garden  will  be  remem- 
bered by  the  quotations  of  that  exquisite  critic, 
Charles  Lamb.  How  pleasant  is  this  picture ! 

"  What  wondrous  life  is  this  I  lead ! 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head ; 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crush  their  wine ; 
The  nectarine  and  curious  peach 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  reach ; 
Stumbling  on  melons  as  I  pass, 
Ensnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grass. 

"  Here  at  this  fountain's  sliding  foot, 
Or  at  the  fruit-tree's  mossy  root, 
Casting  the  body's  vest  aside, 
My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide. 
There  like  a  bird  it  sits  and  sings, 
And  whets  and  claps  its  silver  wings ; 
And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight, 
Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

"  How  well  the  skilful  gard'ner  drew 
Of  flowers  and  herbs  this  dial  true ! 
Where,  from  above,  the  milder  sun 
Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run ; 
And,  as  it  works,  the  industrious  bee 
Computes  his  time  as  well  as  we. 
How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned  but  with  herbs  and  flowers  I  " 


94  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

One  of  his  longer  poems,  Appleton  House,  con- 
tains passages  of  admirable  description,  and  many 
not  unpleasing  conceits.  Witness  the  following : 

"  Thus  I,  an  easy  philosopher, 
Among-  the  birds  and  trees  confer, 
And  little  now  to  make  me  wants, 
Or  of  the  fowl  or  of  the  plants. 
Give  me  but  wings,  as  they,  and  I 
Straight  floating  on  the  air  shall  fly ; 
Or  turn  me  but,  and  you  shall  see 
I  am  but  an  inverted  tree. 
Already  I  begin  to  call 
In  their  most  learned  original ; 
And,  where  I  language  want,  my  signs 
The  bird  upon  the  bough  divines. 
No  leaf  does  tremble  in  the  wind, 
Which  I  returning  cannot  find. 
Out  of  these  scattered  SibyVs  leaves, 
Strange  prophecies  my  fancy  weaves: 
What  Rome,  Greece,  Palestine,  e'er  said, 
I  in  this  light  Mosaic  read. 
Under  this  antic  cope  I  move, 
Like  some  great  prelate  of  the  grove  ; 
Then,  languishing  at  ease,  I  toss 
On  pallets  thick  with  velvet  moss ; 
While  the  wind,  cooling  through  the  boughs, 
Flatters  with  air  my  panting  brows. 
Thanks  for  my  rest,  ye  mossy  banks ! 
And  unto  you,  cool  zephyrs,  thanks ! 
Who,  as  my  hair,  my  thoughts  too  shed, 
And  winnow  from  the  chaff  my  head. 
How  safe,  methinks,  and  strong  behind 
These  trees  have  I  encamped  my  mind  !  " 

Here  is  a  picture  of  a  piscatorial  idler  and  his 
trout  stream,  worthy  of  the  pencil  of  Izaak  Wal- 
ton:— 

"  See  in  what  wanton  harmless  folds 
It  everywhere  the  meadow  holds : 
Where  all  things  gaze  themselves,  and  doubt 
If  they  be  in  it  or  without; 


ANDREW  MARVELL  95 

And  for  this  shade,  which  therein  shines 
Narcissus-like,  the  sun  too  pines. 
Oh !  what  a  pleasure  't  is  to  hedge 
My  temples  here  in  heavy  sedge ; 
Abandoning  my  lazy  side, 
Stretched  as  a  bank  unto  the  tide  ; 
Or,  to  suspend  my  sliding  foot 
On  the  osier's  undermining  root, 
And  in  its  branches  tough  to  hang, 
While  at  my  lines  the  fishes  twang." 

A  little  poem  of  Marvell's,  which  he  calls  Eyes 
and  Tears,  has  the  following  passages :  — 

"  How  wisely  Nature  did  agree 
With  the  same  eyes  to  weep  and  see ! 
That  having  viewed  the  object  vain, 
They  might  be  ready  to  complain. 
And,  since  the  self -deluding  sight 
In  a  false  angle  takes  each  height, 
These  tears,  which  better  measure  all, 
Like  watery  lines  and  plummets  fall." 

"  Happy  are  they  whom  grief  doth  bless, 
That  weep  the  more,  and  see  the  less ; 
And,  to  preserve  their  sight  more  true, 
Bathe  still  their  eyes  in  their  own  dew ; 
So  Magdalen,  in  tears  more  wise, 
Dissolved  those  captivating  eyes, 
Whose  liquid  chains  could,  flowing,  meet 
To  fetter  her  Redeemer's  feet. 
The  sparkling  glance,  that  shoots  desire, 
Drenched  in  those  tears,  does  lose  its  fire  ; 
Yea,  oft  the  Thunderer  pity  takes, 
And  there  his  hissing  lightning  slakes. 
The  incense  is  to  Heaven  dear, 
Not  as  a  perfume,  but  a  tear ; 
And  stars  shine  lovely  in  the  night, 
But  as  they  seem  the  tears  of  light. 
Ope,  then,  mine  eyes,  your  double  sluice, 
And  practise  so  your  noblest  use  ; 
For  others,  too,  can  see  or  sleep, 
But  only  human  eyes  can  weep." 


96  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

The  Bermuda  Emigrants  has  some  happy  lines, 
as  the  following :  — 

"  He  hangs  in  shade  the  orange  bright, 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night." 

Or  this,  which  doubtless  suggested  a  couplet  in 
Moore's  Canadian  Boat  Song :  — 

"  And  all  the  way,  to  guide  the  chime, 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time." 

His  facetious  and  burlesque  poetry  was  much 
admired  in  his  day ;  but  a  great  portion  of  it  re- 
ferred to  persons  and  events  no  longer  of  general 
interest.  The  satire  on  Holland  is  an  exception. 
There  is  nothing  in  its  way  superior  to  it  in  our 
language.  Many  of  his  best  pieces  were  originally 
written  in  Latin,  and  afterwards  translated  by  him- 
self. There  is  a  splendid  Ode  to  Cromwell  —  a 
worthy  companion  of  Milton's  glorious  sonnet  — 
which  is  not  generally  known,  and  which  we  trans- 
fer entire  to  our  pages.  Its  simple  dignity  and 
the  melodious  flow  of  its  versification  commend 
themselves  more  to  our  feelings  than  its  eulogy  of 
war.  It  is  energetic  and  impassioned,  and  proba- 
bly affords  a  better  idea  of  the  author,  as  an  actor 
in  the  stirring  drama  of  his  time,  than  the  "  soft 
Lydian  airs  "  of  the  poems  that  we  have  quoted :  — 

AN  HORATIAN  ODE    UPON   CROMWELL'S    RETURN 
FROM  IRELAND. 

The  forward  youth  that  would  appear 
Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear  ; 

Nor  in  the  shadows  sing 

His  numbers  languishing. 

'T  is  time  to  leave  the  books  in  dust, 
And  oil  the  unused  armor's  rust ; 


ANDREW  MARVELL  97 

Removing  from  the  wall 
The  corslet  of  the  hall. 


So  restless  Cromwell  could  not  cease 
In  the  inglorious  arts  of  peace, 

But  through  adventurous  war 

Urged  his  active  star. 

And,  like  the  three-forked  lightning,  first 
Breaking  the  clouds  wherein  it  nurst, 

Did  thorough  his  own  side 

His  fiery  way  divide. 

For  't  is  all  one  to  courage  high, 
The  emulous,  or  enemy ; 

And  with  such  to  enclose 

Is  more  than  to  oppose. 

Then  burning  through  the  air  he  went, 

And  palaces  and  temples  rent ; 
And  Caesar's  head  at  last 
Did  through  his  laurels  blast. 

'  T  is  madness  to  resist  or  blame 
The  face  of  angry  Heaven1  s  flame  ; 

And,  if  we  would  speak  true, 

Much  to  the  man  is  due, 

Who,  from  his  private  gardens,  where 
He  lived  reserved  and  austere, 

(As  if  his  highest  plot 

To  plant  the  bergamot,) 

Could  by  industrious  valor  climb 
To  ruin  the  great  work  of  time, 

And  cast  the  kingdoms  old 

Into  another  mould  ! 

Though  justice  against  fate  complain, 
And  plead  the  ancient  rights  in  vain,  — 

But  those  do  hold  or  break, 

As  men  are  strong  or  weak. 


98  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

Nature,  that  hateth  emptiness, 

Allows  of  penetration  less, 

And  therefore  must  make  room 
Where  greater  spirits  come. 

What  field  of  all  the  civil  war, 
Where  his  were  not  the  deepest  scar  ? 

And  Hampton  shows  what  part 

He  had  of  wiser  art ; 

Where,  twining  subtle  fears  with  hope, 
He  wove  a  net  of  such  a  scope, 
That  Charles  himself  might  chase 
To  Carisbrook's  narrow  case ; 

That  hence  the  royal  actor  borne, 
The  tragic  scaffold  might  adorn, 
While  round  the  armed  bands 
Did  clap  their  bloody  hands. 

HE  nothing  common  did  or  mean 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 

But  with  his  keener  eye 

The  axe's  edge  did  try  : 

Nor  called  the  gods,  with  vulgar  spite, 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right  ! 

But  bowed  his  comely  head, 

Down,  as  upon  a  bed. 

This  was  that  memorable  hour, 
Which  first  assured  the  forced  power; 

So  when  they  did  design 

The  Capitol's  first  line, 

A  bleeding  head,  where  they  begun, 
Did  fright  the  architects  to  run ; 

And  yet  in  that  the  state 

Foresaw  its  happy  fate. 

And  now  the  Irish  are  ashamed 
To  see  themselves  in  one  year  tamed  ; 
So  much  one  man  can  do, 
That  does  best  act  and  know. 


ANDREW  MAR  VEIL  99 

They  can  affirm  his  praises  best, 
And  have,  though  overcome,  conf  est 

How  good  he  is,  how  just, 

And  fit  for  highest  trust. 

Nor  yet  grown  stiffer  by  command, 
But  still  in  the  Republic's  hand, 

How  fit  he  is  to  sway 

That  can  so  well  obey. 

He  to  the  Commons'  feet  presents 
A  kingdom  for  his  first  year's  rents, 

And,  what  he  may,  forbears 

His  fame  to  make  it  theirs. 

And  has  his  sword  and  spoils  ungirt, 
To  lay  them  at  the  public's  skirt ; 

So  when  the  falcon  high 

Falls  heavy  from  the  sky, 

She,  having  killed,  no  more  does  search, 
But  on  the  next  green  bough  to  perch, 

Where,  when  he  first  does  lure, 

The  falconer  has  her  sure. 

What  may  not,  then,  our  isle  presume, 
While  Victory  his  crest  does  plume  ? 

What  may  not  others  fear, 

If  thus  he  crowns  each  year  ? 

As  Ccesar,  he,  erelong,  to  Gaul; 
To  Italy  as  Hannibal, 

And  to  all  states  not  free 

Shall  climacteric  be. 

The  Pict  no  shelter  now  shall  find 
Within  his  parti-contoured  mind  ; 

But  from  his  valor  sad 

Shrink  underneath  the  plaid, 

Happy  if  in  the  tufted  brake 
The  English  hunter  him  mistake, 

Nor  lay  his  hands  a  near 

The  Caledonian  deer. 


100  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

But  thou,  the  war's  and  fortune's  son, 
March  indefatigably  on ; 

And,  for  the  last  effect, 

Still  keep  the  sword  erect. 

Besides  the  force,  it  has  to  fright 
The  spirits  of  the  shady  night : 

The  same  arts  that  did  gain 

A  power,  must  it  maintain. 

Marvell  was  never  married.  The  modern  critic, 
who  affirms  that  bachelors  have  done  the  most  to 
exalt  women  into  a  divinity,  might  have  quoted  his 
extravagant  panegyric  of  Maria  Fairfax  as  an  apt 
illustration :  — 

"  'T  is  she  that  to  these  gardens  gave 
The  wondrous  beauty  which  they  have ; 
She  straitness  on  the  woods  bestows, 
To  her  the  meadow  sweetness  owes ; 
Nothing  could  make  the  river  be 
So  crystal  pure  but  only  she,  — 
She,  yet  more  pure,  sweet,  strait,  and  fair, 
Than  gardens,  woods,  meads,  rivers  are  ! 
Therefore,  what  first  she  on  them  spent 
They  gratefully  again  present : 
The  meadow  carpets  where  to  tread, 
The  garden  flowers  to  crown  her  head, 
And  for  a  glass  the  limpid  brook 
Where  she  may  all  her  beauties  look ; 
But,  since  she  would  not  have  them  seen, 
The  wood  about  her  draws  a  screen ; 
For  she,  to  higher  beauty  raised, 
Disdains  to  be  for  lesser  praised ; 
She  counts  her  beauty  to  converse 
In  all  the  languages  as  hers, 
Nor  yet  in  those  herself  employs, 
But  for  the  wisdom,  not  the  noise, 
Nor  yet  that  wisdom  could  affect, 
But  as  '<  is  Heaven's  dialect." 

It  has  been  the  fashion  of  a  class  of  shallow 


ANDREW  MARVELL  101 

Church  and  State  defenders  to  ridicule  the  great 
men  of  the  Commonwealth,  the  sturdy  republicans 
of  England,  as  sour-featured,  hard-hearted  ascetics, 
enemies  of  the  fine  arts  and  polite  literature.  The 
works  of  Milton  and  Marvell,  the  prose-poem  of 
Harrington,  and  the  admirable  discourses  of  Alger- 
non Sydney  are  a  sufficient  answer  to  this  accusa- 
tion. To  none  has  it  less  application  than  to  the 
subject  of  our  sketch.  He  was  a  genial,  warm- 
hearted man,  an  elegant  scholar,  a  finished  gentle- 
man at  home,  and  the  life  of  every  circle  which  he 
entered,  whether  that  of  the  gay  court  of  Charles 
II.,  amidst  such  men  as  Rochester  and  L'Estrange, 
or  that  of  the  republican  philosophers  who  assem- 
bled at  Miles's  Coffee  House,  where  he  discussed 
plans  of  a  free  representative  government  with 
the  author  of  Oceana,  and  Cyriack  Skinner,  that 
friend  of  Milton,  whom  the  bard  has  immortalized 
in  the  sonnet  which  so  pathetically,  yet  heroically, 
alludes  to  his  own  blindness.  Men  of  all  parties 
enjoyed  his  wit  and  graceful  conversation.  His  per- 
sonal appearance  was  altogether  in  his  favor.  A 
clear,  dark,  Spanish  complexion,  long  hair  of  jetty 
blackness  falling  in  graceful  wreaths  to  his  shoul- 
ders, dark  eyes,  full  of  expression  and  fire,  a  finely 
chiselled  chin,  and  a  mouth  whose  soft  voluptuous- 
ness scarcely  gave  token  of  the  steady  purpose  and 
firm  will  of  the  inflexible  statesman  :  these,  added 
to  the  prestige  of  his  genius,  and  the  respect  which 
a  lofty,  self-sacrificing  patriotism  extorts  even  from 
those  who  would  fain  corrupt  and  bribe  it,  gave 
him  a  ready  passport  to  the  fashionable  society  of 
the  metropolis.  He  was  one  of  the  few  who  min- 


102  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

gled  in  that  society,  and  escaped  its  contamination, 
and  who, 

"  Amidst  the  wavering  days  of  sin, 
Kept  himself  icy  chaste  and  pure." 

The  tone  and  temper  of  his  mind  may  be  most 
fitly  expressed  in  his  own  paraphrase  of  Horace  :  — 

"  Climb  at  Court  for  me  that  will, 
Tottering  Favor's  pinnacle; 
All  I  seek  is  to  lie  still ! 
Settled  in  some  secret  nest, 
In  calm  leisure  let  me  rest  ; 
And,  far  off  the  public  stage, 
Pass  away  my  silent  age. 
Thus,  when,  without  noise,  unknown, 

I  have  lived  out  all  my  span, 
I  shall  die  without  a  groan, 

An  old,  honest  countryman. 
Who,  exposed  to  other's  eyes, 
Into  his  own  heart  ne'er  pries, 
Death 's  to  him  a  strange  surprise." 

He  died  suddenly  in  1678,  while  in  attendance  at 
a  popular  meeting  of  his  old  constituents  at  Hull. 
His  health  had  previously  been  remarkably  good  ; 
and  it  was  supposed  by  many  that  he  was  poisoned 
by  some  of  his  political  or  clerical  enemies.  His 
monument,  erected  by  his  grateful  constituency, 
bears  the  following  inscription  :  — 

"  Near  this  place  lyeth  the  body  of  Andrew 
Marvell,  Esq.,  a  man  so  endowed  by  Nature,  so 
improved  by  Education,  Study,  and  Travel,  so 
consummated  by  Experience,  that,  joining  the  pecu- 
liar graces  of  Wit  and  Learning,  with  a  singular 
penetration  and  strength  of  judgment ;  and  exer- 
cising all  these  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  with 
an  unutterable  steadiness  in  the  ways  of  Virtue, 


ANDREW  MARVELL  103 

he  became  the  ornament  and  example  of  his  age, 
beloved  by  good  men,  feared  by  bad,  admired  by 
all,  though  imitated  by  few  ;  and  scarce  paralleled 
by  any.  But  a  Tombstone  can  neither  contain  his 
character,  nor  is  Marble  necessary  to  transmit  it 
to  posterity ;  it  is  engraved  in  the  minds  of  this 
generation,  and  will  be  always  legible  in  his  inim- 
itable writings,  nevertheless.  He  having  served 
twenty  years  successfully  in  Parliament,  and  that 
with  such  Wisdom,  Dexterity,  and  Courage,  as 
becomes  a  true  Patriot,  the  town  of  Kingston- 
upon-Hull,  from  whence  he  was  deputed  to  that 
Assembly,  lamenting  in  his  death  the  public  loss, 
have  erected  this  Monument  of  their  Grief  and 
their  Gratitude,  1688." 

Thus  lived  and  died  Andrew  Marvell.  His 
memory  is  the  inheritance  of  Americans  as  well  as 
Englishmen.  His  example  commends  itself  in  an 
especial  manner  to  the  legislators  of  our  Republic. 
Integrity  and  fidelity  to  principle  are  as  greatly 
needed  at  this  time  in  our  halls  of  Congress  as  in 
the  Parliaments  of  the  Restoration ;  men  are  re- 
quired who  can  feel,  with  Milton,  that  "  it  is  high 
honor  done  them  from  God,  and  a  special  mark  of 
His  favor,  to  have  been  selected  to  stand  upright 
and  steadfast  in  His  cause,  dignified  with  the  de- 
fence of  Truth  and  public  liberty." 


JOHN  ROBERTS. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE,  in  his  history  of  the  stout 
and  sagacious  Monk  of  St.  Edmunds,  has  given  us 
a  fine  picture  of  the  actual  life  of  Englishmen  in 
the  middle  centuries.  The  dim  cell-lamp  of  the 
somewhat  apocryphal  Jocelin  of  Brakelond  becomes 
in  his  hands  a  huge  Drummond-light,  shining  over 
the  Dark  Ages  like  the  naphtha-fed  cressets  over 
Pandemonium,  proving,  as  he  says  in  his  own 
quaint  way,  that  "  England  in  the  year  1200  was 
no  dreamland,  but  a  green,  solid  place,  which  grew 
corn  and  several  other  things ;  the  sun  shone  on  it ; 
the  vicissitudes  of  seasons  and  human  fortunes 
were  there ;  cloth  was  woven,  ditches  dug,  fallow 
fields  ploughed,  and  houses  built."  And  if,  as  the 
writer  just  quoted  insists,  it  is  a  matter  of  no  small 
importance  to  make  it  credible  to  the  present  gen- 
eration that  the  Past  is  not  a  confused  dream  of 
thrones  and  battle-fields,  creeds  and  constitutions, 
but  a  reality,  substantial  as  hearth  and  home,  har- 
vest-field and  smith-shop,  merry-making  and  death, 
could  make  it,  we  shall  not  wholly  waste  our  time 
and  that  of  our  readers  in  inviting  them  to  look 
with  us  at  the  rural  life  of  England  two  centuries 
ago,  through  the  eyes  of  John  Roberts  and  his 
worthy  son,  Daniel,  yeomen,  of  Siddington,  near 
Cirencester. 

The  Memoirs  of  John  Roberts,  alias  Haywood, 


JOHN  ROBERTS  105 

6y  his  sow,  Daniel  Roberts,  (the  second  edition, 
printed  verbatim  from  the  original  one,  with  its 
picturesque  array  of  italics  and  capital  letters,)  is 
to  be  found  only  in  a  few  of  our  old  Quaker  libra- 
ries. It  opens  with  some  account  of  the  family. 
The  father  of  the  elder  Roberts  "  lived  reputably, 
on  a  little  estate  of  his  own,"  and  it  is  mentioned 
as  noteworthy  that  he  married  a  sister  of  a  gentle- 
man in  the  Commission  of  the  Peace.  Coming  of 
age  about  the  beginning  of  the  civil  wars,  John 
and  one  of  his  young  neighbors  enlisted  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Parliament.  Hearing  that  Cirencester  had 
been  taken  by  the  King's  forces,  they  obtained 
leave  of  absence  to  visit  their  friends,  for  whose 
safety  they  naturally  felt  solicitous.  The  following 
account  of  the  reception  they  met  with  from  the 
drunken  and  ferocious  troopers  of  Charles  I.,  the 
"  bravos  of  Alsatia  and  the  pages  of  Whitehall," 
throws  a  ghastly  light  upon  the  horrors  of  civil 
war :  — 

"  As  they  were  passing  by  Cirencester,  they 
were  discovered,  and  pursued  by  two  soldiers  of 
the  King's  party,  then  in  possession  of  the  town. 
Seeing  themselves  pursued,  they  quitted  their 
horses,  and  took  to  their  heels ;  but,  by  reason  of 
their  accoutrements,  could  make  little  speed.  They 
came  up  with  my  father  first ;  and,  though  he 
begged  for  quarter,  none  they  would  give  him,  but 
laid  on  him  with  their  swords,  cutting  and  slashing 
his  hands  and  arms,  which  he  held  up  to  save  his 
head;  as  the  marks  upon  them  did  long  after 
testify.  At  length  it  pleased  the  Almighty  to  put 
it  into  his  mind  to  fall  down  on  his  face ;  which  he 


106  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

did.  Hereupon  the  soldiers,  being  on  horseback, 
cried  to  each  other,  Alight,  and  cut  Ms  throat! 
but  neither  of  them  did ;  yet  continued  to  strike 
and  prick  him  about  the  jaws,  till  they  thought 
him  dead.  Then  they  left  him,  and  pursued  his 
neighbor,  whom  they  presently  overtook  and  killed. 
Soon  after  they  had  left  my  father,  it  was  said  in 
his  heart,  Rise,  and  flee  for  thy  life  I  which  call 
he  obeyed ;  and,  starting  upon  his  feet,  his  enemies 
espied  him  in  motion,  and  pursued  him  again. 
He  ran  down  a  steep  hill,  and  through  a  river 
which  ran  at  the  bottom  of  it ;  though  with  ex- 
ceeding difficulty,  his  boots  filling  with  water,  and 
his  wounds  bleeding  very  much.  They  followed 
him  to  the  top  of  the  hill ;  but,  seeing  he  had  got 
over,  pursued  him  no  farther." 

The  surgeon  who  attended  him  was  a  Royalist, 
and  bluntly  told  his  bleeding  patient  that  if  he 
had  met  him  in  the  street  he  would  have  killed 
him  himself,  but  now  he  was  willing  to  cure  him. 
On  his  recovery,  young  Eoberts  again  entered  the 
army,  and  continued  in  it  until  the  overthrow  of 
the  Monarchy.  On  his  return,  he  married  "Lydia 
Tindall,  of  the  denomination  of  Puritans"  A 
majestic  figure  rises  before  us,  on  reading  the 
statement  that  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  afterwards  Lord 
Chief  Justice  of  England,  the  irreproachable  jurist 
and  judicial  saint,  was  "his  wife's  kinsman,  and 
drew  her  marriage  settlement." 

No  stronger  testimony  to  the  high-toned  morality 
and  austere  virtue  of  the  Puritan  yeomanry  of 
England  can  be  adduced  than  the  fact  that,  of  the 
fifty  thousand  soldiers  who  were  discharged  on  the 


JOHN  ROBERTS  107 

accession  of  Charles  II.,  and  left  to  shift  for  them- 
selves, comparatively  few,  if  any,  became  charge- 
able to  their  parishes,  although  at  that  very  time 
one  out  of  six  of  the  English  population  were 
unable  to  support  themselves.  They  carried  into 
their  farm-fields  and  workshops  the  strict  habits  of 
Cromwell's  discipline ;  and,  in  toiling  to  repair 
their  wasted  fortunes,  they  manifested  the  same 
heroic  fortitude  and  self-denial  which  in  war  had 
made  them  such  formidable  and  efficient  "  Soldiers 
of  the  Lord."  With  few  exceptions,  they  remained 
steadfast  in  their  uncompromising  non-conformity, 
abhorring  Prelacy  and  Popery,  and  entertaining 
no  very  orthodox  notions  with  respect  to  the  divine 
right  of  Kings.  From  them  the  Quakers  drew 
their  most  zealous  champions  ;  men  who,  in  re- 
nouncing the  "  carnal  weapons "  of  their  old  ser- 
vice, found  employment  for  habitual  combative- 
ness  in  hot  and  wordy  sectarian  warfare.  To 
this  day  the  vocabulary  of  Quakerism  abounds 
in  the  military  phrases  and  figures  which  were  in 
use  in  the  Commonwealth's  time.  Their  old  force 
and  significance  are  now  in  a  great  measure  lost ; 
but  one  can  well  imagine  that,  in  the  assemblies 
of  the  primitive  Quakers,  such  stirring  battle-cries 
and  warlike  tropes,  even  when  employed  in  en- 
forcing or  illustrating  the  doctrines  of  peace,  must 
have  made  many  a  stout  heart  to  beat  quicker, 
under  its  drab  coloring,  with  recollections  of 
Naseby  and  Preston  ;  transporting  many  a  listener 
from  the  benches  of  his  place  of  worship  to  the 
ranks  of  Ireton  and  Lambert,  and  causing  him  to 
hear,  in  the  place  of  the  solemn  and  nasal  tones  of 


108  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  preacher,  the  blast  of  Eupert's  bugles,  and  the 
answering  shout  of  Cromwell's  pikemen :  "  Let 
God  arise,  and  let  his  enemies  be  scattered  !  " 

Of  this  class  was  John  Roberts.  He  threw  off 
his  knapsack,  and  went  back  to  his  small  home- 
stead, contented  with  the  privilege  of  supporting 
himself  and  family  by  daily  toil,  and  grumbling  in 
concert  with  his  old  campaign  brothers  at  the  new 
order  of  things  in  Church  and  State.  To  his  ap- 
prehension, the  Golden  Days  of  England  ended 
with  the  parade  on  Blackheath  to  receive  the  re- 
stored King.  He  manifested  no  reverence  for 
Bishops  and  Lords,  for  he  felt  none.  For  the 
Presbyterians  he  had  no  good  will ;  they  had 
brought  in  the  King,  and  they  denied  the  liberty 
of  prophesying.  John  Milton  has  expressed  the 
feeling  of  the  Independents  and  Anabaptists  to- 
wards this  latter  class,  in  that  famous  line  in  which 
he  defines  Presbyter  as  "  old  priest  writ  large." 
Roberts  was  by  no  means  a  gloomy  fanatic ;  he 
had  a  great  deal  of  shrewdness  and  humor,  loved 
a  quiet  joke ;  and  every  gambling  priest  and  swear- 
ing magistrate  in  the  neighborhood  stood  in  fear 
of  his  sharp  wit.  It  was  quite  in  course  for  such 
a  man  to  fall  in  with  the  Quakers,  and  he  appears 
to  have  done  so  at  the  first  opportunity. 

In  the  year  1665,  "  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  send 
two  women  Friends  out  of  the  North  to  Cirences- 
ter,"  who,  inquiring  after  such  as  feared  God,  were 
directed  to  the  house  of  John  Roberts.  He  re- 
ceived them  kindly,  and,  inviting  in  some  of  his 
neighbors,  sat  down  with  them,  whereupon  "  the 
Friends  spake  a  few  words,  which  had  a  good  ef- 


JOHN  ROBERTS  109 

feet."  After  the  meeting  was  over,  he  was  in- 
duced to  visit  a  "  Friend  "  then  confined  in  Ban- 
bury  jail,  whom  he  found  preaching  through  the 
grates  of  his  cell  to  the  people  in  the  street.  On 
seeing  Roberts  he  called  to  mind  the  story  of  Zac- 
cheus,  and  declared  that  the  word  was  now  to  all 
who  were  seeking  Christ  by  climbing  the  tree  of 
knowledge,  "  Come  down,  come  down ;  for  that 
which  is  to  be  known  of  God  is  manifested  within" 
Returning  home,  he  went  soon  after  to  the  parish 
meeting-house,  and,  entering  with  his  hat  on,  the 
priest  noticed  him,  and,  stopping  short  in  his  dis- 
course, declared  that  he  could  not  go  on  while  one 
of  the  congregation  wore  his  hat.  He  was  there- 
upon led  out  of  the  house,  and  a  rude  fellow,  steal- 
ing up  behind,  struck  him  on  the  back  with  a 
heavy  stone.  "  Take  that  for  God's  sake,"  said  the 
ruffian.  "  So  I  do,"  answered  Roberts,  without 
looking  back  to  see  his  assailant,  who  the  next  day 
came  and  asked  his  forgiveness  for  the  injury,  as 
he  could  not  sleep  in  consequence  of  it. 

We  next  find  him  attending  the  Quarter  Ses- 
sions, where  three  "  Friends  "  were  arraigned  for 
entering  Cireucester  Church  with  their  hats  on. 
Venturing  to  utter  a  word  of  remonstrance  against 
the  summary  proceedings  of  the  Court,  Justice 
Stephens  demanded  his  name,  and,  on  being  told, 
exclaimed,  in  the  very  tone  and  temper  of  Jeffreys : 
"  I  've  heard  of  you.  I  'm  glad  I  have  you  here. 
You  deserve  a  stone  doublet.  There  's  many  an 
honester  man  than  you  hanged."  "  It  may  be  so," 
said  Roberts,  "  but  what  becomes  of  such  as  hang 
honest  men  ?  "  The  Justice  snatched  a  ball  of  wax 


110  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

and  hurled  it  at  the  quiet  questioner.  "  I  '11  send 
you  to  prison,"  said  he  ;  "  and  if  any  insurrection 
or  tumult  occurs,  I  '11  come  and  cut  your  throat 
with  my  own  sword."  A  warrant  was  made  out, 
and  he  was  forthwith  sent  to  the  jail.  In  the  even- 
ing, Justice  Sollis,  his  uncle,  released  him,  on  con- 
dition of  his  promise  to  appear  at  the  next  Sessions. 
He  returned  to  his  home,  but  in  the  night  follow- 
ing he  was  impressed  with  a  belief  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  visit  Justice  Stephens.  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  a  heavy  heart,  without  eating  or  drink- 
ing, he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  towards  the 
residence  of  his  enemy.  When  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  house,  he  felt  strong  misgivings  that  his 
uncle,  Justice  Sollis,  who  had  so  kindly  released 
him,  and  his  neighbors  generally,  would  condemn 
him  for  voluntarily  running  into  danger,  and  draw- 
ing down  trouble  upon  himself  and  family.  He 
alighted  from  his  horse,  and  sat  on  the  ground  in 
great  doubt  and  sorrow,  when  a  voice  seemed  to 
speak  within  him,  "  Go,  and  I  will  go  with  thee." 
The  Justice  met  him  at  the  door.  "  I  am  come," 
said  Roberts,  "  in  the  fear  and  dread  of  Heaven, 
to  warn  thee  to  repent  of  thy  wickedness  with 
speed,  lest  the  Lord  send  thee  to  the  pit  that  is  bot- 
tomless !  "  This  terrible  summons  awed  the  Jus- 
tice ;  he  made  Eoberts  sit  down  on  his  couch  beside 
him,  declaring  that  he  received  the  message  from 
God,  and  asked  forgiveness  for  the  wrong  he  had 
done  him. 

The  parish  vicar  of  Siddington  at  this  time  was 
George  Bull,  afterwards  Bishop  of  St.  David's, 
whom  Macaulay  speaks  of  as  the  only  rural  parish 


JOHN  ROBERTS  111 

priest  who,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  was  noted  as  a  theologian,  or  who  pos- 
sessed a  respectable  library.  Roberts  refused  to 
pay  the  vicar  his  tithes,  and  the  vicar  sent  him  to 
prison.  It  was  the  priest's  "  Short  Method  with 
Dissenters."  While  the  sturdy  Non-conformist  lay 
in  prison,  he  was  visited  by  the  great  woman  of 
the  neighborhood,  Lady  Dunch,  of  Down  Amney. 
"  What  do  you  lie  in  jail  for  ?  "  inquired  the  lady. 
Roberts  replied  that  it  was  because  he  could  not 
put  bread  into  the  mouth  of  a  hireling  priest.  The 
lady  suggested  that  he  might  let  somebody  else  sat- 
isfy the  demands  of  the  priest ;  and  that  she  had  a 
mind  to  do  this  herself,  as  she  wished  to  talk  with 
him  on  religious  subjects.  To  this  Roberts  ob- 
jected ;  there  were  poor  people  who  needed  her 
charities,  which  would  be  wasted  on  such  devourers 
as  the  priests,  who,  like  Pharaoh's  lean  kine,  were 
eating  up  the  fat  and  the  goodly,  without  looking  a 
whit  the  better.  But  the  lady,  who  seems  to  have 
been  pleased  and  amused  by  the  obstinate  prisoner, 
paid  the  tithe  and  the  jail  fees,  and  set  him  at  lib- 
erty, making  him  fix  a  day  when  he  would  visit  her. 
At  the  time  appointed  he  went  to  Down  Amney, 
and  was  overtaken  on  the  way  by  the  priest  of 
Cirencester,  who  had  been  sent  for  to  meet  the 
Quaker.  They  found  the  lady  ill  in  bed ;  but  she 
had  them  brought  to  her  chamber,  being  deter- 
mined not  to  lose  the  amusement  of  hearing  a  the- 
ological discussion,  to  which  she  at  once  urged 
them,  declaring  that  it  would  divert  her  and  do  her 
good.  The  parson  began  by  accusing  the  Quakers 
of  holding  Popish  doctrines.  The  Quaker  retorted 


112  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

by  telling  him  that  if  he  would  prove  the  Quakers 
like  the  Papists  in  one  thing,  by  the  help  of  God,  he 
would  prove  him  like  them  in  ten.  After  a  brief 
and  sharp  dispute,  the  priest,  finding  his  adversary's 
wit  too  keen  for  his  comfort,  hastily  took  his  leave. 

The  next  we  hear  of  Roberts  he  is  in  Gloucester 
Castle,  subjected  to  the  brutal  usage  of  a  jailer, 
who  took  a  malicious  satisfaction  in  thrusting  de- 
cent and  respectable  Dissenters,  imprisoned  for 
matters  of  conscience,  among  felons  and  thieves. 
A  poor  vagabond  tinker  was  hired  to  play  at  night 
on  his  hautboy,  and  prevent  their  sleeping;  but 
Roberts  spoke  to  him  in  such  a  manner  that  the 
instrument  fell  from  his  hand ;  and  he  told  the 
jailer  that  he  would  play  no  more,  though  he  should 
hang  him  up  at  the  door  for  it. 

How  he  was  released  from  jail  does  not  appear  ; 
but  the  narrative  tells  us  that  some  time  after  an 
apparitor  came  to  cite  him  to  the  Bishop's  Court 
at  Gloucester.  When  he  was  brought  before  the 
Court,  Bishop  Nicholson,  a  kind-hearted  and  easy- 
natured  prelate,  asked  him  the  number  of  his  chil- 
dren, and  how  many  of  them  had  been  bisTioped  f 

"  None,  that  I  know  of,"  said  Roberts. 

"  What  reason,"  asked  the  Bishop,  "  do  you  give 
for  this  ?  " 

"  A  very  good  one,"  said  the  Quaker :  "  most  of 
my  children  were  born  in  Oliver's  days,  when  Bish- 
ops were  out  of  fashion." 

The  Bishop  and  the  Court  laughed  at  this  sally, 
and  proceeded  to  question  him  touching  his  views 
of  baptism.  Roberts  admitted  that  John  had  a 
Divine  commission  to  baptize  with  water,  but  that 


JOHN  ROBERTS  113 

he  never  heard  of  anybody  else  that  had.  The 
Bishop  reminded  him  that  Christ's  disciples  bap- 
tized. "  What 's  that  to  me  ?  "  responded  Roberts. 
"  Paul  says  he  was  not  sent  to  baptize,  but  to  preach 
the  Gospel.  And  if  he  was  not  sent,  who  required 
it  at  his  hands  ?  Perhaps  he  had  as  little  thanks 
for  his  labor  as  thou  hast  for  thine ;  and  I  would 
willingly  know  who  sent  thee  to  baptize  ?  " 

The  Bishop  evaded  this  home  question,  and  told 
him  he  was  there  to  answer  for  not  coming  to 
church.  Roberts  denied  the  charge ;  sometimes 
he  went  to  church,  and  sometimes  it  came  to  him. 
"  I  don't  call  that  a  church  which  you  do,  which  is 
made  of  wood  and  stone." 

"  What  do  you  call  it  ?  "  asked  the  Bishop. 

"  It  might  be  properly  called  a  mass-house,"  was 
the  reply  ;  "  for  it  was  built  for  that  purpose."  The 
Bishop  here  told  him  he  might  go  for  the  present ; 
he  would  take  another  opportunity  to  convince  him 
of  his  errors. 

The  next  person  called  was  a  Baptist  minister, 
who,  seeing  that  Roberts  refused  to  put  off  his  hat, 
kept  on  his  also.  The  Bishop  sternly  reminded 
him  that  he  stood  before  the  King's  Court,  and 
the  representative  of  the  majesty  of  England  ;  and 
that,  while  some  regard  might  be  had  to  the  scru- 
ples of  men  who  made  a  conscience  of  putting  off 
the  hat,  such  contempt  could  not  be  tolerated  on 
the  part  of  one  who  could  put  it  off  to  every  me- 
chanic he  met.  The  Baptist  pulled  off  his  hat,  and 
apologized,  on  the  ground  of  illness. 

We  find  Roberts  next  following  George  Fox  on 
a  visit  to  Bristol.  On  his  return,  reaching  his  house 


114  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

late  in  the  evening,  lie  saw  a  man  standing  in  the 
moonlight  at  his  door,  and  knew  him  to  be  a  bailiff. 
"  Hast  thou  anything  against  me  ?  "  asked  Roberts. 
"  No,"  said  the  bailiff,  "  I  've  wronged  you  enough, 
God  forgive  me !  Those  who  lie  in  wait  for  you 
are  my  Lord  Bishop's  bailiffs ;  they  are  merciless 
rogues.  Ever,  my  master,  while  you  live,  please  a 
knave,  for  an  honest  man  won't  hurt  you." 

The  next  morning,  having,  as  he  thought,  been 
warned  by  a  dream  to  do  so,  he  went  to  the  Bish- 
op's house  at  Cleave,  near  Gloucester.  Confront- 
ing the  Bishop  in  his  own  hall,  he  told  him  that  he 
had  come  to  know  why  he  was  hunting  after  him 
with  his  bailiffs,  and  why  he  was  his  adversary. 
"  The  King  is  your  adversary,"  said  the  Bishop ; 
"  you  have  broken  the  King's  law."  Roberts  ven- 
tured to  deny  the  justice  of  the  law.  "  What !  " 
cried  the  Bishop,  "  do  such  men  as  you  find  fault 
with  the  laws  ?  "  "  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  stoutly ; 
"  and  I  tell  thee  plainly  to  thy  face,  it  is  high  time 
wiser  men  were  chosen,  to  make  better  laws." 

The  discourse  turning  upon  the  Book  of  Com- 
mon Prayer,  Roberts  asked  the  Bishop  if  the  sin 
of  idolatry  did  not  consist  in  worshipping  the  work 
of  men's  hands.  The  Bishop  admitted  it,  as  in  the 
case  of  Nebuchadnezzar's  image. 

"  Then,"  said  Roberts,  "  whose  hands  made  your 
Prayer  Book  ?  It  could  not  make  itself." 

"Do  you  compare  our  Prayer  Book  to  Nebu- 
chadnezzar's image  ?  "  cried  the  Bishop. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Roberts,  "  that  was  his  image ; 
this  is  thine.  I  no  more  dare  bow  to  thy  Common- 
Prayer  Book  than  the  Three  Children  to  Nebuchad- 
nezzar's image." 


JOHN  ROBERTS  115 

"Yours  is  a  strange  upstart  religion,"  said  the 
Bishop. 

Roberts  told  him  it  was  older  than  his  by  several 
hundred  years.  At  this  claim  of  antiquity  the  pre- 
late was  greatly  amused,  and  told  Roberts  that  if 
he  would  make  out  his  case,  he  should  speed  the 
better  for  it. 

"  Let  me  ask  thee,"  said  Roberts,  "  where  thy 
religion  was  in  Oliver's  days,  when  thy  Common- 
Prayer  Book  was  as  little  regarded  as  an  old  alma- 
nac, and  your  priests,  with  a  few  honest  exceptions, 
turned  with  the  tide,  and  if  Oliver  had  put  mass  in 
their  mouths  would  have  conformed  to  it  for  the 
sake  of  their  bellies." 

"What  would  you  have  us  do?"  asked  the 
Bishop.  "  Would  you  have  had  Oliver  cut  our 
throats  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Roberts  ;  "  but  what  sort  of  religion 
was  that  which  you  were  afraid  to  venture  your 
throats  for  ?  " 

The  Bishop  interrupted  him  to  say,  that  in  Oli- 
ver's days  he  had  never  owned  any  other  religion 
than  his  own,  although  he  did  not  dare  to  openly 
maintain  it  as  he  then  did. 

"  Well,"  continued  Roberts,  "  if  thou  didst  not 
think  thy  religion  worth  venturing  thy  throat  for 
then,  I  desire  thee  to  consider  that  it  is  not  worth 
the  cutting  of  other  men's  throats  now  for  not  con- 
forming to  it." 

"  You  are  right,"  responded  the  frank  Bishop. 
"  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  care  how  we  cut  men's 
throats." 

The  following  colloquy  throws  some  light  on  the 


116  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

condition  and  character  of  the  rural  clergy  at  this 
period,  and  goes  far  to  confirm  the  statements  of 
Macaulay,  which  many  have  supposed  exaggerated. 
Baxter's  early  religious  teachers  were  more  excep- 
tionable than  even  the  maudlin  mummer  whom 
Roberts  speaks  of,  one  of  them  being  "  the  excel- 
lentest  stage-player  in  all  the  country,  and  a  good 
gamester  and  goodfellow,  who,  having  received 
Holy  Orders,  forged  the  like  for  a  neighbor's  son, 
who  on  the  strength  of  that  title  officiated  at  the 
desk  and  altar  ;  and  after  him  came  an  attorney's 
clerk,  who  had  tippled  himself  into  so  great  poverty 
that  he  had  no  other  way  to  live  than  to  preach." 

J.  ROBERTS.  I  was  bred  up  under  a  Common- 
Prayer  Priest ;  and  a  poor  drunken  old  Man  he 
was.  Sometimes  he  was  so  drunk  he  could  not  say 
his  Prayers,  and  at  best  he  could  but  say  them ; 
though  I  think  he  was  by  far  a  better  Man  than  he 
that  is  Priest  there  now. 

BISHOP.     Who  is  your  Minister  now  ? 

J.  ROBERTS.  My  Minister  is  Christ  Jesus,  the 
Minister  of  the  everlasting  Covenant ;  but  the  pres- 
ent Priest  of  the  Parish  is  George  Bull. 

BISHOP.  Do  you  say  that  drunken  old  Man  was 
better  than  Mr.  Bull  ?  I  tell  you,  I  account  Mr. 
Bull  as  sound,  able,  and  orthodox  a  Divine  as  any 
we  have  among  us. 

J.  ROBERTS.  I  am  sorry  for  that;  for  if  he  be  one 
of  the  best  of  you,  I  believe  the  Lord  will  not  suffer 
you  long ;  for  he  is  a  proud,  ambitious,  ungodly 
Man  :  he  hath  often  sued  me  at  Law,  and  brought 
his  Servants  to  swear  against  me  wrongfully.  His 
Servants  themselves  have  confessed  to  my  Ser- 


JOHN  ROBERTS  117 

vants,  that  I  might  have  their  Ears  ;  for  their  Mas- 
ter made  them  drunk,  and  then  told  them  they  were 
set  down  in  the  List  as  Witnesses  against  me,  and 
they  must  swear  to  it :  And  so  they  did,  and  brought 
treble  Damages.  They  likewise  owned  they  took 
Tithes  from  my  Servants,  threshed  them  out,  and 
sold  them  for  their  Master.  They  have  also  several 
Times  took  my  Cattle  out  of  my  Grounds,  drove 
them  to  Fairs  and  Markets,  and  sold  them,  without 
giving  me  any  Account. 

BISHOP.  I  do  assure  you  I  will  inform  Mr.  Bull 
of  what  you  say. 

J.  EGBERTS.  Very  well.  And  if  thou  pleasest 
to  send  for  me  to  face  him,  I  shall  make  much  more 
appear  to  his  Face  than  I  '11  say  behind  his  Back. 

After  much  more  discourse,  Roberts  told  the 
Bishop  that  if  it  would  do  him  any  good  to  have 
him  in  jail,  he  would  voluntarily  go  and  deliver  him- 
self up  to  the  keeper  of  Gloucester  Castle.  The 
good-natured  prelate  relented  at  this,  and  said  he 
should  not  be  molested  or  injured,  and  further 
manifested  his  good  will  by  ordering  refreshments. 
One  of  the  Bishop's  friends  who  was  present  was 
highly  offended  by  the  freedom  of  Roberts  with  his 
Lordship,  and  undertook  to  rebuke  him,  but  was 
so  readily  answered  that  he  flew  into  a  rage.  "If 
all  the  Quakers  in  England,"  said  he,  "are  not 
hanged  in  a  month's  time,  I  '11  be  hanged  for  them." 
"Prithee,  friend,"  quoth  Roberts,  "remember  and 
be  as  good  as  thy  word !  " 

Good  old  Bishop  Nicholson,  it  would  seem,  really 
liked  his  incorrigible  Quaker  neighbor,  and  could 
enjoy  heartily  his  wit  and  humor,  even  when  exer- 


118  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

cised  at  the  expense  of  his  own  ecclesiastical  dig- 
nity. He  admired  his  blunt  honesty  and  courage. 
Surrounded  by  flatterers  and  self-seekers,  he  found 
satisfaction  in  the  company  and  conversation  of 
one  who,  setting  aside  all  conventionalisms,  saw 
only  in  my  Lord  Bishop  a  poor  fellow-probationer, 
and  addressed  him  on  terms  of  conscious  equality. 
The  indulgence  which  he  extended  to  him  naturally 
enough  provoked  many  of  the  inferior  clergy,  who 
had  been  sorely  annoyed  by  the  sturdy  Dissenter's 
irreverent  witticisms  and  unsparing  ridicule.  Vicar 
Bull,  of  Siddington,  and  Priest  Careless,  of  Ciren- 
cester,  in  particular,  urged  the  Bishop  to  deal  sharp- 
ly with  him.  The  former  accused  him  of  dealing 
in  the  Black  Art,  and  filled  the  Bishop's  ear  with 
certain  marvellous  stories  of  his  preternatural  sa- 
gacity and  discernment  in  discovering  cattle  which 
were  lost.  The  Bishop  took  occasion  to  inquire 
into  these  stories ;  and  was  told  by  Roberts  that, 
except  in  a  single  instance,  the  discoveries  were 
the  result  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  habits  of 
animals  and  his  knowledge  of  the  localities  where 
they  were  lost.  The  circumstance  alluded  to,  as 
an  exception,  will  be  best  related  in  his  own  words. 
"  I  had  a  poor  Neighbor,  who  had  a  Wife  and 
six  Children,  and  whom  the  chief  men  about  us 
permitted  to  keep  six  or  seven  Cows  upon  the 
Waste,  which  were  the  principal  Support  of  the 
Family,  and  preserved  them  from  becoming  charge- 
able to  the  Parish.  One  very  stormy  night  the 
Cattle  were  left  in  the  Yard  as  usual,  but  could  not 
be  found  in  the  morning.  The  Man  and  his  Sons 
had  sought  them  to  no  purpose  ;  and,  after  they 


JOHN  ROBERTS  119 

had  been  lost  four  days,  his  Wife  came  to  me,  and, 
in  a  great  deal  of  grief,  cried,  '  O  Lord !  Master 
Hayward,  we  are  undone !  My  Husband  and  I 
must  go  a  begging  in  our  old  age !  We  have  lost 
all  our  Cows.  My  Husband  and  the  Boys  have 
been  round  the  country,  and  can  hear  nothing  of 
them.  I  '11  down  on  my  bare  knees,  if  you  '11 
stand  our  Friend  ! '  I  desired  she  would  not  be  in 
such  an  agony,  and  told  her  she  should  not  down 
on  her  knees  to  me ;  but  I  would  gladly  help  them 
in  what  I  could.  *  I  know,'  said  she,  '  you  are  a 
good  Man,  and  God  will  hear  your  Prayers.'  I 
desire  thee,  said  I,  to  be  still  and  quiet  in  thy 
mind  ;  perhaps  thy  Husband  or  Sons  may  hear  of 
them  to-day  ;  if  not,  let  thy  Husband  get  a  horse, 
and  come  to  me  to-morrow  morning  as  soon  as  he 
will ;  and  I  think,  if  it  please  God,  to  go  with  him 
to  seek  them.  The  Woman  seemed  transported 
with  joy,  crying,  '  Then  we  shall  have  our  Cows 
again.'  Her  Faith  being  so  strong,  brought  the 
greater  Exercise  on  me,  with  strong  cries  to  the 
Lord,  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  make  me  instru- 
mental in  his  Hand,  for  the  help  of  the  poor  Fam- 
ily. In  the  Morning  early  comes  the  old  Man. 
In  the  Name  of  God,  says  he,  which  Way  shall 
we  go  to  seek  them  ?  I,  being  deeply  concerned  in 
my  Mind,  did  not  answer  him  till  he  had  thrice 
repeated  it ;  and  then  I  answered,  In  the  Name  of 
God,  I  would  go  to  seek  them  ;  and  said  (before  I 
was  well  aware)  we  will  go  to  Malmsbury,  and  at 
the  Horse-Fair  we  shall  find  them.  When  I  had 
spoken  the  Words,  I  was  much  troubled  lest  they 
should  not  prove  true.  It  was  very  early,  and  the 


120  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

first  Man  we  saw,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  any 
stray  Milch  Cows  thereabouts.  What  manner  of 
Cattle  are  they  ?  said  he.  And  the  old  Man  de- 
scribing their  Mark  and  Number,  he  told  us  there 
were  some  stood  chewing  their  Cuds  in  the  Horse- 
Fair  ;  but  thinking  they  belonged  to  some  in  the 
Neighborhood,  he  did  not  take  particular  Notice  of 
them.  When  we  came  to  the  Place,  the  old  Man 
found  them  to  be  his ;  but  suffered  his  Transports 
of  Joy  to  rise  so  high,  that  I  was  ashamed  of  his 
behavior ;  for  he  fell  a  hallooing,  and  threw  up  his 
Montier  Cap  in  the  Air  several  times,  till  he  raised 
the  Neighbors  out  of  their  Beds  to  see  what  was 
the  Matter.  '  O  ! '  said  he,  '  I  had  lost  my  Cows 
four  or  five  days  ago,  and  thought  I  should  never 
see  them  again ;  and  this  honest  Neighbor  of  mine 
told  me  this  Morning,  by  his  own  Fire's  Side,  nine 
Miles  off,  that  here  I  should  find  them,  and  here  I 
have  them ! '  Then  up  goes  his  Cap  again.  I 
begged  of  the  poor  Man  to  be  quiet,  and  take  his 
Cows  home,  and  be  thankful ;  as  indeed  I  was,  be- 
ing reverently  bowed  in  my  Spirit  before  the  Lord, 
in  that  he  was  pleased  to  put  the  words  of  Truth 
into  my  mouth.  And  the  Man  drove  his  Cattle 
home,  to  the  great  Joy  of  his  Family." 

Not  long  after  the  interview  with  the  Bishop  at 
his  own  palace,  which  has  been  related,  that  digni- 
tary, with  the  Lord  Chancellor,  in  their  coaches, 
and  about  twenty  clergymen  on  horseback,  made  a 
call  at  the  humble  dwelling  of  Roberts,  on  their 
way  to  Tedbury,  where  the  Bishop  was  to  hold  a 
Visitation.  "  I  could  not  go  out  of  the  country 
without  seeing  you,"  said  the  prelate,  as  the  farmer 
came  to  his  coach  door  and  pressed  him  to  alight. 


JOHN  ROBERTS  121 

"  John,"  asked  Priest  Evans,  the  Bishop's  kins- 
man, "  is  your  house  free  to  entertain  such  men  as 
we  are?  " 

"  Yes,  George,"  said  Roberts ;  "  I  entertain  hon- 
est men,  and  sometimes  others." 

"  My  Lord,"  said  Evans,  turning  to  the  Bishop, 
"  John's  friends  are  the  honest  men,  and  we  are 
the  others." 

The  Bishop  told  Roberts  that  they  could  not  then 
alight,  but  would  gladly  drink  with  him ;  where- 
upon the  good  wife  brought  out  her  best  beer.  "  I 
commend  you,  John,"  quoth  the  Bishop,  as  he 
paused  from  his  hearty  draught ;  "  you  keep  a  cup 
of  good  beer  in  your  house.  I  have  not  drank  any 
that  has  pleased  me  better  since  I  left  home."  The 
cup  passed  next  to  the  Chancellor,  and  finally  came 
to  Priest  Bull,  who  thrust  it  aside,  declaring  that 
it  was  full  of  hops  and  heresy.  As  to  hops,  Rob- 
erts replied,  he  could  not  say,  but  as  for  heresy, 
he  bade  the  priest  take  note  that  the  Lord  Bishop 
had  drank  of  it,  and  had  found  no  heresy  in  the 
cup. 

The  Bishop  leaned  over  his  coach  door  and  whis- 
pered :  "  John,  I  advise  you  to  take  care  you  don't 
offend  against  the  higher  Powers.  I  have  heard 
great  complaints  against  you,  that  you  are  the 
Ringleader  of  the  Quakers  in  this  Country ;  and 
that,  if  you  are  not  suppressed,  all  will  signify 
nothing.  Therefore,  pray,  John,  take  care,  for  the 
future,  you  don't  offend  any  more." 

"  I  like  thy  Counsel  very  well,"  answered  Rob- 
erts, "  and  intend  to  take  it.  But  thou  knowest 
God  is  the  higher  Power;  and  you  mortal  Men, 


122  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

however  advanced  in  this  World,  are  but  the  lower 
Power;  and  it  is  only  because  I  endeavor  to  be 
obedient  to  the  will  of  the  higher  Powers,  that  the 
lower  Powers  are  angry  with  me.  But  I  hope, 
with  the  assistance  of  God,  to  take  thy  Counsel, 
and  be  subject  to  the  higher  Powers,  let  the  lower 
Powers  do  with  me  as  it  may  please  God  to  suffer 
them." 

The  Bishop  then  said  he  would  like  to  talk  with 
him  further,  and  requested  him  to  meet  him  at 
Tedbury  the  next  day.  At  the  time  appointed, 
Koberts  went  to  the  inn  where  the  Bishop  lodged, 
and  was  invited  to  dine  with  him.  After  dinner 
was  over,  the  prelate  told  him  that  he  must  go  to 
church,  and  leave  off  holding  conventicles  at  his 
house,  of  which  great  complaint  was  made.  This 
he  flatly  refused  to  do;  and  the  Bishop,  losing 
patience,  ordered  the  constable  to  be  sent  for. 
Roberts  told  him  that  if,  after  coming  to  his  house 
under  the  guise  of  friendship,  he  should  betray 
him  and  send  him  to  prison,  he,  who  had  hitherto 
commended  him  for  his  moderation,  would  put  his 
name  in  print,  and  cause  it  to  stink  before  all 
sober  people.  It  was  the  priests,  he  told  him,  who 
set  him  on ;  but,  instead  of  hearkening  to  them, 
he  should  commend  them  to  some  honest  vocation, 
and  not  suffer  them  to  rob  their  honest  neighbors, 
and  feed  on  the  fruits  of  other  men's  toil,  like 
caterpillars. 

"  Whom  do  you  call  caterpillars  ?  "  cried  Priest 
Rich,  of  North  Surrey. 

"  We  farmers,"  said  Roberts,  "  call  those  so 
who  live  on  other  men's  fields,  and  by  the  sweat 


JOHN  ROBERTS  123 

of  other  men's  brows ;  and  if  thou  dost  so,  thou 
mayst  be  one  of  them." 

This  reply  so  enraged  the  Bishop's  attendants 
that  they  could  only  be  appeased  by  an  order  for 
the  constable  to  take  him  to  jail.  In  fact,  there 
was  some  ground  for  complaint  of  a  lack  of  cour- 
tesy on  the  part  of  the  blunt  farmer ;  and  the 
Christian  virtue  of  forbearance,  even  in  Bishops, 
has  its  limits. 

The  constable,  obeying  the  summons,  came  to  the 
inn,  at  the  door  of  which  the  landlady  met  him. 
"  What  do  you  here !  "  cried  the  good  woman, 
"  when  honest  John  is  going  to  be  sent  to  prison  ? 
Here,  come  along  with  me."  The  constable,  noth- 
ing loath,  followed  her  into  a  private  room,  where 
she  concealed  him.  Word  was  sent  to  the  Bishop, 
that  the  constable  was  not  to  be  found ;  and  the 
prelate,  telling  Roberts  he  could  send  him  to  jail 
in  the  afternoon,  dismissed  him  until  evening.  At 
the  hour  appointed,  the  latter  waited  upon  the 
Bishop,  and  found  with  him  only  one  priest  and  a 
lay  gentleman.  The  priest  begged  the  Bishop  to 
be  allowed  to  discourse  with  the  prisoner ;  and, 
leave  being  granted,  he  began  by  telling  Roberts 
that  the  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures  had  made 
him  mad,  and  that  it  was  a  great  pity  he  had  ever 
seen  them. 

"  Thou  art  an  unworthy  man,"  said  the  Quaker, 
"  and  I  '11  not  dispute  with  thee.  If  the  knowledge 
of  the  Scriptures  has  made  me  mad,  the  knowledge 
of  the  sack-pot  hath  almost  made  thee  mad ;  and  if 
we  two  madmen  should  dispute  about  religion,  we 
should  make  mad  work  of  it." 


124  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"  An 't  please  you,  my  Lord,"  said  the  scandal- 
ized priest,  "  he  says  I  'm  drunk." 

The  Bishop  asked  Roberts  to  repeat  his  words ; 
and,  instead  of  reprimanding  him,  as  the  priest  ex- 
pected, was  so  much  amused  that  he  held  up  his 
hands  and  laughed ;  whereupon  the  offended  in- 
ferior took  a  hasty  leave.  The  Bishop,  who  was 
evidently  glad  to  be  rid  of  him,  now  turned  to 
Roberts,  and  complained  that  he  had  dealt  hardly 
with  him,  in  telling  him,  before  so  many  gentle- 
men, that  he  had  sought  to  betray  him  by  profes- 
sions of  friendship,  in  order  to  send  him  to  prison ; 
and  that,  if  he  had  not  done  as  he  did,  people 
would  have  reported  him  as  an  encourager  of  the 
Quakers.  "But  now,  John,"  said  the  good  pre- 
late, "  I  '11  burn  the  warrant  against  you  before 
your  face."  "  You  know,  Mr.  Burnet,"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  his  attendant,  "  that  a  Ring  of 
Bells  may  be  made  of  excellent  metal,  but  they 
may  be  out  of  tune ;  so  we  may  say  of  John :  he 
is  a  man  of  as  good  metal  as  I  ever  met  with,  but 
quite  out  of  tune." 

"  Thou  mayst  well  say  so,"  quoth  Roberts,  "  for 
I  can't  tune  after  thy  pipe." 

The  inferior  clergy  were  by  no  means  so  lenient 
as  the  Bishop.  They  regarded  Roberts  as  the 
ringleader  of  Dissent,  an  impracticable,  obstinate, 
contumacious  heretic,  not  only  refusing  to  pay 
them  tithes  himself,  but  encouraging  others  to  the 
same  course.  Hence,  they  thought  it  necessary  to 
visit  upon  him  the  full  rigor  of  the  law.  His 
crops  were  taken  from  his  field,  and  his  cattle  from 
his  yard.  He  was  often  committed  to  the  jail, 


JOHN  ROBERTS  125 

where,  on  one  occasion,  he  was  kept,  with  many 
others,  for  a  long  time,  through  the  malice  of  the 
jailer,  who  refused  to  put  the  names  of  his  prison- 
ers in  the  Calendar,  that  they  might  have  a  hear- 
ing. But  the  spirit  of  the  old  Commonwealth's 
man  remained  steadfast.  When  Justice  George, 
at  the  Ram  in  Cirencester,  told  him  he  must  con- 
form, and  go  to  church,  or  suffer  the  penalty  of  the 
law,  he  replied  that  he  had  heard  indeed  that  some 
were  formerly  whipped  out  of  the  Temple,  but  he 
had  never  heard  of  any  being  whipped  in.  The 
Justice,  pointing,  through  the  open  window  of  the 
inn,  at  the  church  tower,  asked  him  what  that  was. 
"  Thou  mayst  call  it  a  daw-house,"  answered  the 
incorrigible  Quaker.  "  Dost  thou  not  see  how  the 
jackdaws  flock  about  it  ?  " 

Sometimes  it  happened  that  the  clergyman  was 
also  a  magistrate,  and  united  in  his  own  person 
the  authority  of  the  State  and  the  zeal  of  the 
Church.  Justice  Parsons,  of  Gloucester,  was  a 
functionary  of  this  sort.  He  wielded  the  sword  of 
the  Spirit  on  the  Sabbath  against  Dissenters,  and 
on  week  days  belabored  them  with  the  arm  of 
flesh  and  the  constable's  staff.  At  one  time  he 
had  between  forty  and  fifty  of  them  locked  up  in 
Gloucester  Castle,  among  them  Roberts  and  his 
sons,  on  the  charge  of  attending  conventicles.  But 
the  troublesome  prisoners  baffled  his  vigilance, 
and  turned  their  prison  into  a  meeting-house,  and 
held  their  conventicles  in  defiance  of  him.  The 
Reverend  Justice  pounced  upon  them  on  one  oc- 
casion, with  his  attendants.  An  old,  gray-haired 
man,  formerly  a  strolling  fencing-master,  was 


126  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

preaching  when  he  came  in.  The  Justice  laid 
hold  of  him  by  his  white  locks,  and  strove  to  pull 
him  down,  but  the  tail  fencing-master  stood  firm 
and  spoke  on  ;  he  then  tried  to  gag  him,  but  failed 
in  that  also.  He  demanded  the  names  of  the 
prisoners,  but  no  one  answered  him.  A  voice  (we 
fancy  it  was  that  of  our  old  friend  Roberts)  called 
out :  "  The  Devil  must  be  hard  put  to  it  to  have 
his  drudgery  done,  when  the  Priests  must  leave 
their  pulpits  to  turn  informers  against  poor  pris- 
oners." The  Justice  obtained  a  list  of  the  names 
of  the  prisoners,  made  out  on  their  commitment, 
and,  taking  it  for  granted  that  all  were  still  pres- 
ent, issued  warrants  for  the  collection  of  fines  by 
levies  upon  their  estates.  Among  the  names  was 
that  of  a  poor  widow,  who  had  been  discharged, 
and  was  living,  at  the  time  the  clerical  magistrate 
swore  she  was  at  the  meeting,  twenty  miles  distant 
from  the  prison. 

Soon  after  this  event,  our  old  friend  fell  sick. 
He  had  been  discharged  from  prison,  but  his  sons 
were  still  confined.  The  eldest  had  leave,  how- 
ever, to  attend  him  in  his  illness,  and  he  bears  his 
testimony  that  the  Lord  was  pleased  to  favor  his 
father  with  His  living  presence  in  his  last  mo- 
ments. In  keeping  with  the  sturdy  Non-conform- 
ist's life,  he  was  interred  at  the  foot  of  his  own  or- 
chard, in  Siddington,  a  spot  he  had  selected  for  a 
burial-ground  long  before,  where  neither  the  foot 
of  a  priest  nor  the  shadow  of  a  steeple-house  could 
rest  upon  his  grave. 

In  closing  our  notice  of  this  pleasant  old  narra- 
tive, we  may  remark  that  the  light  it  sheds  upon 


JOHN  ROBERTS  127 

the  antagonistic  religious  parties  of  the  time  is  cal- 
culated to  dissipate  prejudices  and  correct  misap- 
prehensions, common  alike  to  Churchmen  and 
Dissenters.  The  genial  humor,  sound  sense,  and 
sterling  virtues  of  the  Quaker  farmer  should  teach 
the  one  class  that  poor  James  Nayler,  in  his  crazi- 
ness  and  folly,  was  not  a  fair  representative  of  his 
sect ;  while  the  kind  nature,  the  hearty  apprecia- 
tion of  goodness,  and  the  generosity  and  candor  of 
Bishop  Nicholson  should  convince  the  other  class 
that  a  prelate  is  not  necessarily,  and  by  virtue  of 
his  mitre,  a  Laud  or  a  Bonner.  The  Dissenters 
of  the  seventeenth  century  may  well  be  forgiven 
for  the  asperity  of  their  language  ;  men  whose  ears 
had  been  cropped  because  they  would  not  recognize 
Charles  I.  as  a  blessed  martyr,  and  his  scandalous 
son  as  the  head  of  the  Church,  could  scarcely  be 
expected  to  make  discriminations,  or  suggest  palli- 
ating circumstances,  favorable  to  any  class  of  their 
adversaries.  To  use  the  homely  but  apt  simile  of 
McFingal, 

"  The  will 's  confirmed  by  treatment  horrid, 
As  hides  grow  harder  when  they  're  curried." 

They  were  wronged,  and  they  told  the  world  of  it. 
Unlike  Shakespeare's  cardinal,  they  did  not  die 
without  a  sign.  They  branded,  by  their  fierce  epi- 
thets, the  foreheads  of  their  persecutors  more 
deeply  than  the  sheriff's  hot  iron  did  their  own. 
If  they  lost  their  ears,  they  enjoyed  the  satisfaction 
of  making  those  of  their  oppressors  tingle.  Know- 
ing their  persecutors  to  be  in  the  wrong,  they  did 
not  always  inquire  whether  they  themselves  had 
been  entirely  right,  and  had  done  no  unrequired 


128  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

works  of  supererogation  by  the  way  of  "  testimony  " 
against  their  neighbors'  mode  of  worship.  And  so 
from  pillory  and  whipping-post,  from  prison  and 
scaffold,  they  sent  forth  their  wail  and  execration, 
their  miserere  and  anathema,  and  the  sound  thereof 
has  reached  down  to  our  day.  May  it  never 
wholly  die  away  until,  the  world  over,  the  forcing 
of  conscience  is  regarded  as  a  crime  against  human- 
ity and  a  usurpation  of  God's  prerogative.  But 
abhorring,  as  we  must,  persecution  under  whatever 
pretext  it  is  employed,  we  are  not,  therefore,  to 
conclude  that  all  persecutors  were  bad  and  unfeel- 
ing men.  Many  of  their  severities,  upon  which 
we  now  look  back  with  horror,  were,  beyond  a 
question,  the  result  of  an  intense  anxiety  for  the 
well-being  of  immortal  souls,  endangered  by  the 
poison  which,  in  their  view,  heresy  was  casting  into 
the  waters  of  life.  Coleridge,  in  one  of  the  moods 
of  a  mind  which  traversed  in  imagination  the  vast 
circle  of  human  experience,  reaches  this  point  in 
his  Table -Talk.  "  It  would  require,"  says  he, 
"  stronger  arguments  than  any  I  have  seen  to  con- 
vince me  that  men  in  authority  have  not  a  right, 
involved  in  an  imperative  duty,  to  deter  those  un- 
der their  control  from  teaching  or  countenancing 
doctrines  which  they  believe  to  be  damnable,  and 
even  to  punish  with  death  those  who  violate  such 
prohibition."  It  would  not  be  very  difficult  for 
us  to  imagine  a  tender-hearted  Inquisitor  of  this 
stamp,  stifling  his  weak  compassion  for  the  shriek- 
ing wretch  under  bodily  torment  by  his  strong  pity 
for  souls  in  danger  of  perdition  from  the  sufferer's 
heresy.  We  all  know  with  what  satisfaction  the 


JOHN  ROBERTS  129 

gentle-spirited  Melancthon  heard  of  the  burning  of 
Servetus,  and  with  what  zeal  he  defended  it.  The 
truth  is,  the  notion  that  an  intellectual  recognition 
of  certain  dogmas  is  the  essential  condition  of  sal- 
vation lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  intolerance  in  mat- 
ters of  religion.  Under  this  impression,  men  are 
too  apt  to  forget  that  the  great  end  of  Christianity 
is  love,  and  that  charity  is  its  crowning  virtue  ; 
they  overlook  the  beautiful  significance  of  the  par- 
able of  the  heretic  Samaritan  and  the  orthodox 
Pharisee  :  and  thus,  by  suffering  their  speculative 
opinions  of  the  next  world  to  make  them  unchari- 
table and  cruel  in  this,  they  are  really  the  worse 
for  them,  even  admitting  them  to  be  true. 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS. 

THEEE  quarters  of  a  century  ago,  the  name  of 
Samuel  Hopkins  was  as  familiar  as  a  household 
word  throughout  New  England.  It  was  a  spell 
wherewith  to  raise  at  once  a  storm  of  theological 
controversy.  The  venerable  minister  who  bore  it 
had  his  thousands  of  ardent  young  disciples,  as  well 
as  defenders  and  followers  of  mature  age  and  ac- 
knowledged talent ;  a  hundred  pulpits  propagated 
the  dogmas  which  he  had  engrafted  on  the  stock  of 
Calvinism.  Nor  did  he  lack  numerous  and  power- 
ful antagonists.  The  sledge  ecclesiastic,  with  more 
or  less  effect,  was  unceasingly  plied  upon  the 
strong-linked  chain  of  argument  which  he  slowly 
and  painfully  elaborated  in  the  seclusion  of  his  par- 
ish. The  press  groaned  under  large  volumes  of 
theological,  metaphysical,  and  psychological  disqui- 
sition, the  very  thought  of  which  is  now  "  a  weari- 
ness to  the  flesh ; "  in  rapid  succession  pamphlet 
encountered  pamphlet,  horned,  beaked,  and  sharp 
of  talon,  grappling  with  each  other  in  mid-air,  like 
Milton's  angels.  That  loud  controversy,  the  sound 
whereof  went  over  Christendom,  awakening  re- 
sponses from  beyond  the  Atlantic,  has  now  died 
away ;  its  watchwords  no  longer  stir  the  blood  of 
belligerent  sermonizers ;  its  very  terms  and  defini- 
tions have  wellnigh  become  obsolete  and  unintel- 
ligible. The  hands  which  wrote  and  the  tongues 


Samuel  Hopkins 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  131 

which  spoke  in  that  day  are  now  all  cold  arid  si- 
lent ;  even  Emmons,  the  brave  old  intellectual  ath- 
lete of  Franklin,  now  sleeps  with  his  fathers,  —  the 
last  of  the  giants.  Their  fame  is  still  in  all  the 
churches  ;  effeminate  clerical  dandyism  still  affects 
to  do  homage  to  their  memories ;  the  earnest 
young  theologian,  exploring  with  awe  the  moun- 
tainous debris  of  their  controversial  lore,  ponders 
over  the  colossal  thoughts  entombed  therein,  as  he 
would  over  the  gigantic  fossils  of  an  early  creation, 
and  endeavors  in  vain  to  recall  to  the  skeleton  ab- 
stractions before  him  the  warm  and  vigorous  life 
wherewith  they  were  once  clothed  ;  but  Hopkins- 
ianism,  as  a  distinct  and  living  school  of  philos- 
ophy, theology,  and  metaphysics,  no  longer  exists. 
It  has  no  living  oracles  left ;  and  its  memory  sur- 
vives only  in  the  doctrinal  treatises  of  the  elder 
and  younger  Edwards,  Hopkins,  Bellamy,  and 
Emmons. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  present  purpose  to  discuss 
the  merits  of  the  system  in  question.  Indeed, 
looking  at  the  great  controversy  which  divided 
New  England  Calvinism  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
from  a  point  of  view  which  secures  our  impartiality 
and  freedom  from  prejudice,  we  find  it  exceedingly 
difficult  to  get  a  precise  idea  of  what  was  actually 
at  issue.  To  our  poor  comprehension,  much  of  the 
dispute  hinges  upon  names  rather  than  things ;  on 
the  manner  of  reaching  conclusions  quite  as  much 
as  upon  the  conclusions  themselves.  Its  origin 
may  be  traced  to  the  great  religious  awakening  of 
the  middle  of  the  past  century,  when  the  dogmas 
of  the  Calvinistic  faith  were  subjected  to  the  in- 


132  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

quiry  of  acute  and  earnest  minds,  roused  up  from 
the  incurious  ease  and  passive  indifference  of  nom- 
inal orthodoxy.  Without  intending  it,  it  broke 
down  some  of  the  barriers  which  separated  Armin- 
ianism  and  Calvinism  ;  its  product,  Hopkinsianism, 
while  it  pushed  the  doctrine  of  the  Genevan  re- 
former on  the  subject  of  the  Divine  decrees  and 
agency  to  that  extreme  point  where  it  wellnigh 
loses  itself  in  Pantheism,  held  at  the  same  time 
that  guilt  could  not  be  hereditary  ;  that  man,  being 
responsible  for  his  sinful  acts,  and  not  for  his  sin- 
ful nature,  can  only  be  justified  by  a  personal  holi- 
ness, consisting  not  so  much  in  legal  obedience  as 
in  that  disinterested  benevolence  which  prefers  the 
glory  of  God  and  the  welfare  of  universal  being 
above  the  happiness  of  self.  It  had  the  merit, 
whatever  it  may  be,  of  reducing  the  doctrines  of 
the  Reformation  to  an  ingenious  and  scholastic 
form  of  theology ;  of  bringing  them  boldly  to  the 
test  of  reason  and  philosophy.  Its  leading  advo- 
cates were  not  mere  heartless  reasoners  and  closet 
speculators.  They  taught  that  sin  was  selfishness, 
and  holiness  self-denying  benevolence,  and  they  en- 
deavored to  practise  accordingly.  Their  lives  rec- 
ommended their  doctrines.  They  were  bold  and 
faithful  in  the  discharge  of  what  they  regarded  as 
duty.  In  the  midst  of  slaveholders,  and  in  an  age 
of  comparative  darkness  on  the  subject  of  human 
rights,  Hopkins  and  the  younger  Edwards  lifted 
up  their  voices  for  the  slave.  And  twelve  years 
ago,  when  Abolitionism  was  everywhere  spoken 
against,  and  the  whole  land  was  convulsed  with 
mobs  to  suppress  it,  the  venerable  Emmons,  bur- 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  133 

dened  with  the  weight  of  ninety  years,  made  a 
journey  to  New  York,  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the 
Anti-Slavery  Society.  Let  those  who  condemn 
the  creed  of  these  men  see  to  it  that  they  do  not 
fall  behind  them  in  practical  righteousness  and 
faithfulness  to  the  convictions  of  duty. 

Samuel  Hopkins,  who  gave  his  name  to  the  re- 
ligious system  in  question,  was  born  in  Waterbury, 
Connecticut,  in  1721.  In  his  fifteenth  year  he  was 
placed  under  the  care  of  a  neighboring  clergyman, 
preparatory  for  college,  which  he  entered  about  a 
year  after.  In  1740,  the  celebrated  "VVhitefield 
visited  New  Haven,  and  awakened  there,  as  else- 
where, serious  inquiry  on  religious  subjects.  He 
was  followed  the  succeeding  spring  by  Gilbert 
Tennent,  the  New  Jersey  revivalist,  a  stirring  and 
powerful  preacher.  A  great  change  took  place  in 
the  college.  All  the  phenomena  which  President 
Edwards  has  described  in  his  account  of  the  North- 
ampton awakening  were  reproduced  among  the 
students.  The  excellent  David  Brainard,  then  a 
member  of  the  college,  visited  Hopkins  in  his 
apartment,  and,  by  a  few  plain  and  earnest  words, 
convinced  him  that  he  was  a  stranger  to  vital 
Christianity.  In  his  autobiographical  sketch,  he 
describes  in  simple  and  affecting  language  the  dark 
and  desolate  state  of  his  mind  at  this  period,  and 
the  particular  exercise  which  finally  afforded  him 
some  degree  of  relief,  and  which  he  afterwards  ap- 
pears to  have  regarded  as  his  conversion  from  spir- 
itual death  to  life.  When  he  first  heard  Tennent, 
regarding  him  as  the  greatest  as  well  as  the  best 
of  men,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  study  theology 


134  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

with  him ;  but  just  before  the  commencement  at 
which  he  was  to  take  his  degree,  the  elder  Edwards 
preached  at  New  Haven.  Struck  by  the  power  of 
the  great  theologian,  he  at  once  resolved  to  make 
him  his  spiritual  father.  In  the  winter  following, 
he  left  his  father's  house  on  horseback,  on  a  jour- 
ney of  eighty  miles  to  Northampton.  Arriving  at 
the  house  of  President  Edwards,  he  was  disap- 
pointed by  hearing  that  he  was  absent  on  a  preach- 
ing tour.  But  he  was  kindly  received  by  the 
gifted  and  accomplished  lady  of  the  mansion,  and 
encouraged  to  remain  during  the  winter.  Still 
doubtful  in  respect  to  his  own  spiritual  state,  he 
was,  he  says,  "  very  gloomy,  and  retired  most  of 
the  time  in  his  chamber."  The  kind  heart  of  his 
amiable  hostess  was  touched  by  his  evident  afflic- 
tion. After  some  days  she  came  to  his  chamber, 
and,  with  the  gentleness  and  delicacy  of  a  true 
woman,  inquired  into  the  cause  of  his  unhappiness. 
The  young  student  disclosed  to  her,  without  re- 
serve, the  state  of  his  feelings  and  the  extent  of 
his  fears.  "  She  told  me,"  says  the  Doctor,  "  that 
she  had  had  peculiar  exercises  respecting  me  since 
I  had  been  in  the  family  ;  that  she  trusted  I  should 
receive  light  and  comfort,  and  doubted  not  that 
God  intended  yet  to  do  great  things  by  me." 

After  pursuing  his  studies  for  some  months  with 
the  Puritan  philosopher,  young  Hopkins  com- 
menced preaching,  and,  in  1743,  was  ordained  at 
Sheffield,  (now  Great  Barrington,)  in  the  western 
part  of  Massachusetts.  There  were  at  the  time 
only  about  thirty  families  in  the  town.  He  says  it 
was  a  matter  of  great  regret  to  him  to  be  obliged 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  135 

to  settle  so  far  from  his  spiritual  guide  and  tutor ; 
but  seven  years  after  he  was  relieved  and  gratified 
by  the  removal  of  Edwards  to  Stockbridge,  as  the 
Indian  missionary  at  that  station,  seven  miles  only 
from  his  own  residence  ;  and  for  several  years  the 
great  metaphysician  and  his  favorite  pupil  enjoyed 
the  privilege  of  familiar  intercourse  with  each 
other.  The  removal  of  the  former  in  1758  to 
Princeton,  New  Jersey,  and  his  death,  which  soon 
followed,  are  mentioned  in  the  diary  of  Hopkins 
as  sore  trials  and  afflictive  dispensations. 

Obtaining  a  dismissal  from  his  society  in  Great 
Barrington  in  1769,  he  was  installed  at  Newport 
the  next  year,  as  minister  of  the  first  Congrega- 
tional church  in  that  place.  Newport,  at  this 
period,  was,  in  size,  wealth,  and  commercial  impor- 
tance, the  second  town  in  New  England.  It  was 
the  great  slave  mart  of  the  North.  Vessels  loaded 
with  stolen  men  and  women  and  children,  con- 
signed to  its  merchant  princes,  lay  at  its  wharves  ; 
immortal  beings  were  sold  daily  in  its  market,  like 
cattle  at  a  fair.  The  soul  of  Hopkins  was  moved 
by  the  appalling  spectacle.  A  strong  conviction 
of  the  great  wrong  of  slavery,  and  of  its  utter  in- 
compatibility with  the  Christian  profession,  seized 
upon  his  mind.  While  at  Great  Barrington,  he 
had  himself  owned  a  slave,  whom  he  had  sold  on 
leaving  the  place,  without  compunction  or  suspicion 
in  regard  to  the  rightfulness  of  the  transaction. 
He  now  saw  the  origin  of  the  system  in  its  true 
light ;  he  heard  the  seamen  engaged  in  the  African 
trade  tell  of  the  horrible  scenes  of  fire  and  blood 
which  they  had  witnessed,  and  in  which  they  had 


136  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

been  actors ;  he  saw  the  half-suffocated  wretches 
brought  up  from  their  noisome  and  narrow  prison, 
their  squalid  countenances  and  skeleton  forms  bear- 
ing fearful  evidence  of  the  suffering  attendant  upon 
the  transportation  from  their  native  homes.  The 
demoralizing  effects  of  slaveholding  everywhere 
forced  themselves  upon  his  attention,  for  the  evil 
had  struck  its  roots  deeply  in  the  community,  and 
there  were  few  families  into  which  it  had  not  pen- 
etrated. The  right  to  deal  in  slaves,  and  use  them 
as  articles  of  property,  was  questioned  by  no  one  ; 
men  of  all  professions,  clergymen  and  church-mem- 
bers, consulted  only  their  interest  and  convenience 
as  to  their  purchase  or  sale.  The  magnitude  of 
the  evil  at  first  appalled  him  ;  he  felt  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  condemn  it,  but  for  a  time  even  his  strong 
spirit  faltered  and  turned  pale  in  contemplation  of 
the  consequences  to  be  apprehended  from  an  attack 
upon  it.  Slavery  and  slavetrading  were  at  that 
time  the  principal  source  of  wealth  to  the  island  ; 
his  own  church  and  congregation  were  personally 
interested  in  the  traffic  ;  all  were  implicated  in  its 
guilt.  He  stood  alone,  as  it  were,  in  its  condem- 
nation ;  with  here  and  there  an  exception,  all  Chris- 
tendom maintained  the  rightf ulness  of  slavery.  No 
movement  had  yet  been  made  in  England  against 
the  slavetrade ;  the  decision  of  Granville  Sharp's 
Somerset  case  had  not  yet  taken  place.  The  Qua- 
kers, even,  had  not  at  that  time  redeemed  them- 
selves from  the  opprobrium.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, after  a  thorough  examination  of  the  subject, 
he  resolved,  in  the  strength  of  the  Lord,  to  take 
his  stand  openly  and  decidedly  on  the  side  of 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  137 

humanity.  He  prepared  a  sermon  for  the  purpose, 
and  for  the  first  time  from  a  pulpit  of  New  Eng- 
land was  heard  an  emphatic  testimony  against  the 
sin  of  slavery.  In  contrast  with  the  unselfish  and 
disinterested  benevolence  which  formed  in  his  mind 
the  essential  element  of  Christian  holiness,  he  held 
up  the  act  of  reducing  human  beings  to  the  condi- 
tion of  brutes,  to  minister  to  the  convenience,  the 
luxury,  and  lusts  of  the  owner.  He  had  expected 
bitter  complaint  and  opposition  from  his  hearers, 
but  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  in  most 
cases  his  sermon  only  excited  astonishment  in  their 
minds  that  they  themselves  had  never  before  looked 
at  the  subject  in  the  light  in  which  he  presented  it. 
Steadily  and  faithfully  pursuing  the  matter,  he  had 
the  satisfaction  to  carry  with  him  his  church,  and 
obtain  from  it,  in  the  midst  of  a  slaveholding  and 
slavetrading  community,  a  resolution  every  way 
worthy  of  note  in  this  day  of  cowardly  compromise 
with  the  evil  on  the  part  of  our  leading  ecclesias- 
tical bodies :  — 

"  Resolved,  That  the  slave-trade  and  the  slavery 
of  the  Africans,  as  it  has  existed  among  us,  is  a 
gross  violation  of  the  righteousness  and  benevo- 
lence which  are  so  much  inculcated  in  the  Gospel, 
and  therefore  we  will  not  tolerate  it  in  this  church." 

There  are  few  instances  on  record  of  moral  hero- 
ism superior  to  that  of  Samuel  Hopkins,  in  thus 
rebuking  slavery  in  the  time  and  place  of  its 
power.  Honor  to  the  true  man  ever,  who  takes 
his  life  in  his  hands,  and,  at  all  hazards,  speaks 
the  word  which  is  given  him  to  utter,  whether  men 


138  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

will  hear  or  forbear,  whether  the  end  thereof  is  to 
be  praise  or  censure,  gratitude  or  hatred.  It  well 
may  be  doubted  whether  on  that  Sabbath  day  the 
angels  of  God,  in  their  wide  survey  of  His  universe, 
looked  upon  a  nobler  spectacle  than  that  of  the 
minister  of  Newport,  rising  up  before  his  slave- 
holding  congregation,  and  demanding,  in  the  name 
of  the  Highest,  the  "  deliverance  of  the  captive, 
and  the  opening  of  prison  doors  to  them  that  were 
bound." 

Dr.  Hopkins  did  not  confine  his  attention  solely 
to  slaveholding  in  his  own  church  and  congrega- 
tion. He  entered  into  correspondence  with  the 
early  Abolitionists  of  Europe  as  well  as  his  own 
country.  He  labored  with  his  brethren  in  the 
ministry  to  bring  them  to  his  own  view  of  the 
great  wrong  of  holding  men  as  slaves.  In  a  visit 
to  his  early  friend,  Dr.  Bellamy,  at  Bethlehem,  who 
was  the  owner  of  a  slave,  he  pressed  the  subject 
kindly  but  earnestly  upon  his  attention.  Dr.  Bel- 
lamy urged  the  usual  arguments  in  favor  of  slavery. 
Dr.  Hopkins  refuted  them  in  the  most  successfid 
manner,  and  called  upon  his  friend  to  do  an  act  of 
simple  justice,  in  giving  immediate  freedom  to  his 
slave.  Dr.  Bellamy,  thus  hardly  pressed,  said  that 
the  slave  was  a  most  judicious  and  faithful  fellow ; 
that,  in  the  management  of  his  farm,  he  could  trust 
everything  to  his  discretion ;  that  he  treated  him 
well,  and  he  was  so  happy  in  his  service  that  he 
would  refuse  his  freedom  if  it  were  offered  him. 

"  Will  you,"  said  Hopkins,  "  consent  to  his  lib- 
eration, if  he  really  desires  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  Dr.  Bellamy. 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  139 

"  Then  let  us  try  him,"  said  his  guest. 

The  slave  was  at  work  in  an  adjoining  field,  and 
at  the  call  of  his  master  came  promptly  to  receive 
his  commands. 

"  Have  you  a  good  master  ?  "  inquired  Hopkins. 

"  O  yes  ;  massa,  he  berry  good." 

"  But  are  you  happy  in  your  present  condition  ?  " 
queried  the  Doctor. 

"  O  yes,  massa ;  berry  happy." 

Dr.  Bellamy  here  could  scarcely  suppress  his 
exultation  at  what  he  supposed  was  a  complete 
triumph  over  his  anti-slavery  brother.  But  the 
pertinacious  guest  continued  his  queries. 

"Would  you  not  be  more  happy  if  you  were 
free  ?  " 

"  O  yes,  massa,"  exclaimed  the  negro,  his  dark 
face  glowing  with  new  life ;  "  berry  much  more 
happy  ! 

To  the  honor  of  Dr.  Bellamy,  he  did  not  hesitate. 

"  You  have  your  wish,"  he  said  to  his  servant. 
"  From  this  moment  you  are  free." 

Dr.  Hopkins  was  a  poor  man,  but  one  of  his  first 
acts,  after  becoming  convinced  of  the  wrongfulness 
of  slavery,  was  to  appropriate  the  very  sum  which, 
in  the  days  of  his  ignorance,  he  had  obtained  as 
the  price  of  his  slave  to  the  benevolent  purpose  of 
educating  some  pious  colored  men  in  the  town  of 
Newport,  who  were  desirous  of  returning  to  their 
native  country  as  missionaries.  In  one  instance 
he  borrowed,  on  his  own  responsibility,  the  sum 
requisite  to  secure  the  freedom  of  a  slave  in  whom 
he  became  interested.  One  of  his  theological  pu- 
pils was  Newport  Gardner,  who,  twenty  years  after 


140  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  death  of  his  kind  patron,  left  Boston  as  a  mis- 
sionary to  Africa.  He  was  a  native  African,  and 
was  held  by  Captain  Gardner,  of  Newport,  who  al- 
lowed him  to  labor  for  his  own  benefit,  whenever 
by  extra  diligence  he  could  gain  a  little  time  for 
that  purpose.  The  poor  fellow  was  in  the  habit  of 
laying  up  his  small  earnings  on  these  occasions,  in 
the  faint  hope  of  one  day  obtaining  thereby  the 
freedom  of  himself  and  his  family.  But  time 
passed  on,  and  the  hoard  of  purchase-money  still 
looked  sadly  small.  He  concluded  to  try  the  effi- 
cacy of  praying.  Having  gained  a  day  for  him- 
self, by  severe  labor,  and  communicating  his  plan 
only  to  Dr.  Hopkins  and  two  or  three  other  Chris- 
tian friends,  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  humble 
dwelling,  and  spent  the  time  in  prayer  for  freedom. 
Towards  the  close  of  the  day,  his  master  sent  for 
him.  He  was  told  that  this  was  his  gained  time, 
and  that  he  was  engaged  for  himself.  "  No  mat- 
ter," returned  the  master,  "I  must  see  him." 
Poor  Newport  reluctantly  abandoned  his  supplica- 
tions, and  came  at  his  master's  bidding,  when,  to 
his  astonishment,  instead  of  a  reprimand,  he  re- 
ceived a  paper,  signed  by  his  master,  declaring  him 
and  his  family  from  thenceforth  free.  He  justly 
attributed  this  signal  blessing  to  the  all-wise  Dis- 
poser, who  turns  the  hearts  of  men  as  the  rivers  of 
water  are  turned ;  but  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
the  labors  and  arguments  of  Dr.  Hopkins  with  his 
master  were  the  human  instrumentality  in  effect- 
ing it. 

In  the  year  1773,  in  connection  with  Dr.  Ezra 
Stiles,  he  issued  an  appeal  to  the  Christian  com- 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  141 

munity  in  behalf  of  a  society  which  he  had  been 
instrumental  in  forming,  for  the  purpose  of  educat- 
ing missionaries  for  Africa.  In  the  desolate  and 

o 

benighted  condition  of  that  unhappy  continent  he 
had  become  painfully  interested,  by  conversing 
with  the  slaves  brought  into  Newport.  Another 
appeal  was  made  on  the  subject  in  1776. 

The  war  of  the  Revolution  interrupted,  for  a 
time,  the  philanthropic  plans  of  Dr.  Hopkins. 
The  beautiful  island  on  which  he  lived  was  at  an 
early  period  exposed  to  the  exactions  and  devasta- 
tions of  the  enemy.  All  who  could  do  so  left  it 
for  the  mainland.  Its  wharves  were  no  longer 
thronged  with  merchandise  ;  its  principal  dwellings 
stood  empty;  the  very  meeting-houses  were  in  a 
great  measure  abandoned.  Dr.  Hopkins,  who  had 
taken  the  precaution,  at  the  commencement  of  hos- 
tilities, to  remove  his  family  to  Great  Barrington, 
remained  himself  until  the  year  1776,  when  the 
British  took  possession  of  the  island.  During  the 
period  of  its  occupation,  he  was  employed  in 
preaching  to  destitute  congregations.  He  spent 
the  summer  of  1777  at  Newburyport,  where  his 
memory  is  still  cherished  by  the  few  of  his  hearers 
who  survive.  In  the  spring  of  1780,  he  returned 
to  Newport.  Everything  had  undergone  a  melan- 
choly change.  The  garden  of  New  England  lay 
desolate.  His  once  prosperous  and  wealthy  church 
and  congregation  were  now  poor,  dispirited,  and, 
worst  of  all,  demoralized.  His  meeting-house  had 
been  used  as  a  barrack  for  soldiers ;  pulpit  and 
pews  had  been  destroyed  ;  the  very  bell  had  been 
stolen.  Refusing,  with  his  characteristic  denial  of 


142  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

self,  a  call  to  settle  in  a  more  advantageous  posi- 
tion, he  sat  himself  down  once  more  in  the  midst 
of  his  reduced  and  impoverished  parishioners,  and, 
with  no  regular  salary,  dependent  entirely  on  such 
free-will  offerings  as  from  time  to  time  were  made 
him,  he  remained  with  them  until  his  death. 

In  1776,  Dr.  Hopkins  published  his  celebrated 
"  Dialogue  concerning  the  Slavery  of  the  Africans ; 
showing  it  to  be  the  Duty  and  Interest  of  the 
American  States  to  Emancipate  all  their  Slaves." 
This  he  dedicated  to  the  Continental  Congress, 
the  Signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
It  was  republished  in  1785,  by  the  New  York  Abo- 
lition Society,  and  was  widely  circulated.  A  few 
years  after,  on  coming  unexpectedly  into  posses- 
sion of  a  few  hundred  dollars,  he  devoted  immedi- 
ately one  hundred  of  it  to  the  society  for  ameli- 
orating the  condition  of  the  Africans. 

He  continued  to  preach  until  he  had  reached  his 
eighty-third  year.  His  last  sermon  was  delivered 
on  the  16th  of  the  tenth  month,  1803,  and  his 
death  took  place  in  the  twelfth  month  following. 
He  died  calmly,  in  the  steady  faith  of  one  who  had 
long  trusted  all  things  in  the  hand  of  God.  "  The 
language  of  my  heart  is,"  said  he,  "  let  God  be 
glorified  by  all  things,  and  the  best  interest  of  His 
kingdom  promoted,  whatever  becomes  of  me  or  my 
interest."  To  a  young  friend,  who  visited  him 
three  days  before  his  death,  he  said,  "  I  am  feeble 
and  cannot  say  much.  I  have  said  all  I  can  say. 
With  my  last  words,  I  tell  you,  religion  is  the  one 
thing  needful."  "  And  now,"  he  continued,  affec- 
tionately pressing  the  hand  of  his  friend,  "  I  am 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  143 

going  to  die,  and  I  am  glad  of  it."  Many  years 
before,  an  agreement  had  been  made  between  Dr. 
Hopkins  and  his  old  and  tried  friend,  Dr.  Hart,  of 
Connecticut,  that  when  either  was  called  home,  the 
survivor  should  preach  the  funeral  sermon  of  the 
deceased.  The  venerable  Dr.  Hart  accordingly 
came,  true  to  his  promise,  preaching  at  the  funeral 
from  the  words  of  Elisha,  "  My  father,  my  father ; 
the  chariots  of  Israel,  and  the  horsemen  thereof." 
In  the  burial-ground  adjoining  his  meeting-house 
lies  all  that  was  mortal  of  Samuel  Hopkins. 

One  of  Dr.  Hopkins's  habitual  hearers,  and  who 
has  borne  grateful  testimony  to  the  beauty  and 
holiness  of  his  life  and  conversation,  was  William 
Ellery  Channing.  Widely  as  he  afterwards  di- 
verged from  the  creed  of  his  early  teacher,  it  con- 
tained at  least  one  doctrine  to  the  influence  of 
which  the  philanthropic  devotion  of  his  own  life  to 
the  welfare  of  man  bears  witness.  He  says,  him- 
self, that  there  always  seemed  to  him  something 
very  noble  in  the  doctrine  of  disinterested  benevo- 
lence, the  casting  of  self  aside,  and  doing  good, 
irrespective  of  personal  consequences,  in  this  world 
or  another,  upon  which  Dr.  Hopkins  so  strongly 
insisted,  as  the  all-essential  condition  of  holiness. 

How  widely  apart,  as  mere  theologians,  stood 
Hopkins  and  Channing !  Yet  how  harmonious 
their  lives  and  practice !  Both  could  forget  the 
poor  interests  of  self,  in  view  of  eternal  right  and 
universal  humanity.  Both  could  appreciate  the 
saving  truth,  that  love  to  God  and  His  creation  is 
the  fulfilling  of  the  divine  law.  The  idea  of  un- 
selfish benevolence,  which  they  held  in  common, 


144  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

clothed  with  sweetness  and  beauty  the  stern  and 
repulsive  features  of  the  theology  of  Hopkins,  and 
infused  a  sublime  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  and  a  glow- 
ing humanity  into  the  indecisive  and  less  robust 
faith  of  Channing.  What  is  the  lesson  of  this  but 
that  Christianity  consists  rather  in  the  affections 
than  in  the  intellect ;  that  it  is  a  life  rather  than 
a  creed ;  and  that  they  who  diverge  the  widest 
from  each  other  in  speculation  upon  its  doctrines 
may,  after  all,  be  found  working  side  by  side  on 
the  common  ground  of  its  practice. 

We  have  chosen  to  speak  of  Dr.  Hopkins  as  a 
philanthropist  rather  than  as  a  theologian.  Let 
those  who  prefer  to  contemplate  the  narrow  secta- 
rian rather  than  the  universal  man  dwell  upon  his 
controversial  works,  and  extol  the  ingenuity  and 
logical  acumen  with  which  he  defended  his  own 
dogmas  and  assailed  those  of  others.  We  honor 
him,  not  as  the  founder  of  a  new  sect,  but  as  the 
friend  of  all  mankind,  —  the  generous  defender  of 
the  poor  and  oppressed.  Great  as  unquestionably 
were  his  powers  of  argument,  his  learning,  and 
skill  in  the  use  of  the  weapons  of  theologic  war- 
fare, these  by  no  means  constitute  his  highest  title 
to  respect  and  reverence.  As  the  product  of  an 
honest  and  earnest  mind,  his  doctrinal  dissertations 
have  at  least  the  merit  of  sincerity.  They  were 
put  forth  in  behalf  of  what  he  regarded  as  truth  ; 
and  the  success  which  they  met  with,  while  it 
called  into  exercise  his  profoundest  gratitude,  only 
served  to  deepen  the  humility  and  self-abasement 
of  their  author.  As  the  utterance  of  what  a  good 
man  believed  and  felt,  as  a  part  of  the  history  of  a 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS  145 

life  remarkable  for  its  consecration  to  apprehended 
duty,  these  writings  cannot  be  without  interest 
even  to  those  who  dissent  from  their  arguments 
and  deny  their  assumptions ;  but  in  the  time  now, 
we  trust,  near  at  hand,  when  distracted  and  divided 
Christendom  shall  unite  in  a  new  Evangelical 
union,  in  which  orthodoxy  in  life  and  practice 
shall  be  estimated  above  orthodoxy  in  theory,  he 
will  be  honored  as  a  good  man,  rather  than  as  a 
successful  creed-maker ;  as  a  friend  of  the  oppressed 
and  the  fearless  rebuker  of  popular  sin  rather 
than  as  the  champion  of  a  protracted  sectarian  war. 
Even  now  his  writings,  so  popular  in  their  day, 
are  little  known.  The  time  may  come  when  no 
pilgrim  of  sectarianism  shall  visit  his  grave.  But 
his  memory  shall  live  in  the  hearts  of  the  good  and 
generous ;  the  emancipated  slave  shall  kneel  over 
his  ashes,  and  bless  God  for  the  gift  to  humanity 
of  a  life  so  devoted  to  its  welfare.  To  him  may  be 
applied  the  language  of  one  who,  on  the  spot  where 
he  labored  and  lay  down  to  rest,  while  rejecting 
the  doctrinal  views  of  the  theologian,  still  cherishes 
the  philanthropic  spirit  of  the  man :  — 

"  He  is  not  lost,  —  lie  hath  not  passed  away : 

Clouds,  earths,  may  pass,  but  stars  shine  calmly  on ; 
And  he  who  doth  the  will  of  God,  for  aye 

Abideth,  when  the  earth  and  heaven  are  gone. 

"  Alas  that  such  a  heart  is  in  the  grave ! 

Thanks  for  the  life  that  now  shall  never  end ! 
Weep,  and  rejoice,  thou  terror-hunted  slave, 

That  hast  both  lost  and  found  so  great  a  friend !  " 


RICHARD   BAXTER. 

THE  picture  drawn  by  a  late  English  historian 
of  the  infamous  Jeffreys  in  his  judicial  robes, 
sitting  in  judgment  upon  the  venerable  Richard 
Baxter,  brought  before  him  to  answer  to  an  indict- 
ment, setting  forth  that  the  said  "  Richardus  Bax- 
ter, persona  seditiosa  et  f actiosa  pravse  mentis,  im- 
piae,  inquietae,  turbulent  disposition  et  conversa- 
tion ;  falso  illicte,  injuste  nequit  factiose  seditiose, 
et  irreligiose,  fecit,  composuit,  scripsit  quendam 
falsum,  seditiosum,  libellosum,  factiosum  et  irreli- 
giosum  librum,"  is  so  remarkable  that  the  attention 
of  the  most  careless  reader  is  at  once  arrested. 
Who  was  that  old  man,  wasted  with  disease  and 
ghastly  with  the  pallor  of  imprisonment,  upon 
whom  the  foul-mouthed  buffoon  in  ermine  ex- 
hausted his  vocabulary  of  abuse  and  ridicule? 
Who  was  Richardus  Baxter  ? 

The  author  of  works  so  elaborate  and  profound 
as  to  frighten  by  their  very  titles  and  ponderous 
folios  the  modern  ecclesiastical  student  from  their 
perusal,  his  hold  upon  the  present  generation  is 
limited  to  a  few  practical  treatises,  which,  from 
their  very  nature,  can  never  become  obsolete.  The 
Call  to  the,  Unconverted  and  the  Saints'  Ever- 
lasting Rest  belong  to  no  time  or  sect.  They 
speak  the  universal  language  of  the  wants  and  de- 
sires of  the  human  soul.  They  take  hold  of  the 


RICHARD  BAXTER  147 

awful  verities  of  life  and  death,  righteousness  and 
judgment  to  come.  Through  them  the  suffering 
and  hunted  minister  of  Kidderminster  has  spoken 
in  warning,  entreaty,  and  rebuke,  or  in  tones  of 
tenderest  love  and  pity,  to  the  hearts  of  the  gen- 
erations which  have  succeeded  him.  His  contro- 
versial works,  his  confessions  of  faith,  his  learned 
disputations,  and  his  profound  doctrinal  treatises 
are  no  longer  read.  Their  author  himself,  towards 
the  close  of  his  life,  anticipated,  in  respect  to  these 
favorite  productions,  the  children  of  his  early  zeal, 
labor,  and  suffering,  the  judgment  of  posterity. 
"  I  perceive,"  he  says,  "  that  most  of  the  doctrinal 
controversies  among  Protestants  are  far  more  about 
equivocal  words  than  matter.  Experience  since 
the  year  1643  to  this  year  1675  hath  loudly  called 
me  to  repent  of  my  own  prejudices,  sidings,  and 
censurings  of  causes  and  persons  not  understood, 
and  of  all  the  miscarriages  of  my  ministry  and  life 
which  have  been  thereby  caused ;  and  to  make  it 
my  chief  work  to  call  men  that  are  within  my 
hearing  to  more  peaceable  thoughts,  affections,  and 
practices." 

Richard  Baxter  was  born  at  the  village  of  Eton 
Constantine,  in  1615.  He  received  from  officiating 
curates  of  the  little  church  such  literary  instruction 
as  could  be  given  by  men  who  had  left  the  farmer's 
flail,  the  tailor's  thimble,  and  the  service  of  strolling 
stage-players,  to  perform  church  drudgery  under 
the  parish  incumbent,  who  was  old  and  wellnigh 
blind.  At  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  sent  to  a 
school  at  Wroxeter,  where  he  spent  three  years,  to 
little  purpose,  so  far  as  a  scientific  education  was 


148  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

concerned.  His  teacher  left  him  to  himself  mainly, 
and  following  the  bent  of  his  mind,  even  at  that 
early  period,  he  abandoned  the  exact  sciences  for 
the  perusal  of  such  controversial  and  metaphysical 
writings  of  the  schoolmen  as  his  master's  library 
afforded.  The  smattering  of  Latin  which  he  ac- 
quired only  served  in  after  years  to  deform  his 
treatises  with  barbarous,  ill-adapted,  and  erroneous 
citations.  "  As  to  myself,"  said  he,  in  his  letter 
written  in  old  age  to  Anthony  Wood,  who  had  in- 
quired whether  he  was  an  Oxonian  graduate,  "  my 
faults  are  no  disgrace  to  a  university,  for  I  was  of 
none  ;  I  have  but  little  but  what  I  had  out  of  books 
and  inconsiderable  help  of  country  divines.  Weak- 
ness and  pain  helped  me  to  study  how  to  die ;  that 
set  me  a-studying  how  to  live ;  and  that  on  study- 
ing the  doctrine  from  which  I  must  fetch  my  mo- 
tives and  comforts ;  beginning  with  necessities,  I 
proceeded  by  degrees,  and  am  now  going  to  see 
that  for  which  I  have  lived  and  studied." 

Of  the  first  essays  of  the  young  theologian  as  a 
preacher  of  the  Established  Church,  his  early  suf- 
ferings from  that  complication  of  diseases  with 
which  his  whole  life  was  tormented,  of  the  still 
keener  afflictions  of  a  mind  whose  entire  outlook 
upon  life  and  nature  was  discolored  and  darkened 
by  its  disordered  bodily  medium,  and  of  the  strug- 
gles between  his  Puritan  temperament  and  his  rev- 
erence for  Episcopal  formulas,  much  might  be 
profitably  said,  did  the  limits  we  have  assigned 
ourselves  admit.  Nor  can  we  do  more  than  briefly 
allude  to  the  religious  doubts  and  difficulties  which 
darkened  and  troubled  his  mind  at  an  early  period. 


RICHARD  BAXTER  149 

He  tells  us  at  length  in  his  Life  how  he  strug- 
gled with  these  spiritual  infirmities  and  temptations. 
The  future  life,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and 
the  truth  of  the  Scriptures  were  by  turns  ques- 
tioned. "  I  never,"  says  he  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  More, 
inserted  in  the  Sadducisimus  Triumphatus,  "  had 
so  much  ado  to  overcome  a  temptation  as  that  to 
the  opinion  of  Averroes,  that,  as  extinguished  can- 
dles go  all  out  in  an  illuminated  air,  so  separated 
souls  go  all  into  one  common  anima  mundi,  and 
lose  their  individuation."  With  these  and  similar 
"  temptations  "  Baxter  struggled  long,  earnestly, 
and  in  the  end  triumphantly.  His  faith,  when 
once  established,  remained  unshaken  to  the  last ; 
and  although  always  solemn,  reverential,  and 
deeply  serious,  he  was  never  the  subject  of  religious 
melancholy,  or  of  that  mournful  depression  of  soul 
which  arises  from  despair  of  an  interest  in  the 
mercy  and  paternal  love  of  our  common  Father. 

The  Great  Revolution  found  him  settled  as  a 
minister  in  Kidderminster,  under  the  sanction  of 
a  drunken  vicar,  who,  yielding  to  the  clamor  of  his 
more  sober  parishioners,  and  his  fear  of  their  ap- 
peal to  the  Long  Parliament,  then  busy  in  its  task 
of  abating  church  nuisances,  had  agreed  to  give 
him  sixty  pounds  per  year,  in  the  place  of  a  poor 
tippling  curate,  notorious  as  a  common  railer  and 
pothouse  encumbrance. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  the  sharp  con- 
trast which  the  earnest,  devotional  spirit  and  pain- 
ful strictness  of  Baxter  presented  to  the  irreverent 
license  and  careless  good  humor  of  his  predecessor 
by  no  means  commended  him  to  the  favor  of  a 


150  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

large  class  of  his  parishioners.  Sabbath  merry- 
makers missed  the  rubicund  face  and  maudlin  jol- 
lity of  their  old  vicar  ;  the  ignorant  and  vicious 
disliked  the  new  preacher's  rigid  morality;  the 
better  informed  revolted  at  his  harsh  doctrines, 
austere  life,  and  grave  manner.  Intense  earnest- 
ness characterized  all  his  efforts.  Contrasting 
human  nature  with  the  Infinite  Purity  and  Holi- 
ness, he  was  oppressed  with  the  sense  of  the  loath- 
someness and  deformity  of  sin,  and  afflicted  by  the 
misery  of  his  fellow-creatures  separated  from  the 
divine  harmony.  He  tells  us  that  at  this  period 
he  preached  the  terrors  of  the  Law  and  the  ne- 
cessity of  repentance,  rather  than  the  joys  and 
consolations  of  the  Gospel,  upon  which  he  so  loved 
to  dwell  in  his  last  years.  He  seems  to  have  felt 
a  necessity  laid  upon  him  to  startle  men  from  false 
hope  and  security,  and  to  call  for  holiness  of  life 
and  conformity  to  the  divine  will  as  the  only- 
ground  of  safety.  Powerful  and  impressive  as  are 
the  appeals  and  expostulations  contained  in  his 
written  works,  they  probably  convey  but  a  faint 
idea  of  the  force  and  earnestness  of  those  which  he 
poured  forth  from  his  pulpit.  As  he  advanced  in 
years,  these  appeals  were  less  frequently  addressed 
to  the  fears  of  his  auditors,  for  he  had  learned  to 
value  a  calm  and  consistent  life  of  practical  good- 
ness beyond  any  passionate  exhibition  of  terrors, 
fervors,  and  transports.  Having  witnessed,  in  an 
age  of  remarkable  enthusiasm  and  spiritual  awak- 
ening, the  ill  effects  of  passional  excitements  and 
religious  melancholy,  he  endeavored  to  present 
cheerful  views  of  Christian  life  and  duty,  and  made 


RICHARD  BAXTER  151 

it  a  special  object  to  repress  morbid  imaginations 
and  heal  diseased  consciences.  Thus  it  came  to 
pass  that  no  man  of  his  day  was  more  often  ap- 
plied to  for  counsel  and  relief  by  persons  laboring 
under  mental  depression  than  himself.  He  has 
left  behind  him  a  very  curious  and  not  uninstruc- 
tive  discourse,  which  he  entitled  The  Cure  of 
Melancholy,  by  Faith  and  Physick,  in  which  he 
shows  a  great  degree  of  skill  in  his  morbid  mental 
anatomy.  He  had  studied  medicine  to  some  ex- 
tent for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  of  his  parish,  and 
knew  something  of  the  intimate  relations  and  sym- 
pathy of  the  body  and  mind ;  he  therefore  did  not 
hesitate  to  ascribe  many  of  the  spiritual  complaints 
of  his  applicants  to  disordered  bodily  functions, 
nor  to  prescribe  pills  and  powders  in  the  place  of 
Scripture  texts.  More  than  thirty  years  after  the 
commencement  of  his  labors  at  Kidderminster  he 
thus  writes  :  "  I  was  troubled  this  year  with  multi- 
tudes of  melancholy  persons  from  several  places  of 
the  land  ;  some  of  high  quality,  some  of  low,  some 
exquisitely  learned,  and  some  unlearned.  I  know 
not  how  it  came  to  pass,  but  if  men  fell  melan- 
choly I  must  hear  from  them  or  see  them,  more 
than  any  physician  I  knew."  He  cautions  against 
ascribing  melancholy  phantasms  and  passions  to 
the  Holy  Spirit,  warns  the  young  against  licentious 
imaginations  and  excitements,  and  ends  by  advis- 
ing all  to  take  heed  how  they  make  of  religion  a 
matter  of  "  fears,  tears,  and  scruples."  "  True  re- 
ligion," he  remarks,  "  doth  principally  consist  in 
obedience,  love,  and  joy." 

At  this  early  period  of  his  ministry,  however,  he 


152  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

had  all  of  Whitefield's  intensity  and  fervor,  added 
to  reasoning  powers  greatly  transcending  those  of 
the  revivalist  of  the  next  century.  Young  in 
years,  he  was  even  then  old  in  bodily  infirmity  and 
mental  experience.  Believing  himself  the  victim 
of  a  mortal  disease,  he  lived  and  preached  in  the 
constant  prospect  of  death.  His  memento  mori 
was  in  his  bed-chamber,  and  sat  by  him  at  his 
frugal  meal.  The  glory  of  the  world  was  stained 
to  his  vision.  He  was  blind  to  the  beauty  of  all  its 
"  pleasant  pictures."  No  monk  of  Mount  Athos 
or  silent  Chartreuse,  no  anchorite  of  Indian  super- 
stition, ever  more  completely  mortified  the  flesh,  or 
turned  his  back  more  decidedly  upon  the  "  good 
things  "  of  this  life.  A  solemn  and  funeral  atmos- 
phere surrounded  him.  He  walked  in  the  shadows 
of  the  cypress,  and  literally  "  dwelt  among  the 
tombs."  Tortured  by  incessant  pain,  he  wrestled 
against  its  attendant  languor  and  debility,  as  a  sin- 
ful wasting  of  inestimable  time ;  goaded  himself  to 
constant  toil  and  devotional  exercise,  and,  to  use 
his  own  words,  "  stirred  up  his  sluggish  soul  to 
speak  to  sinners  with  compassion,  as  a  dying  man 
to  dying  men." 

Such  entire  consecration  could  not  long  be  with- 
out its  effect,  even  upon  the  "  vicious  rabble,"  as 
Baxter  calls  them.  His  extraordinary  earnestness, 
self-forgetting  concern  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of 
others,  his  rigid  life  of  denial  and  sacrifice,  if 
they  failed  of  bringing  men  to  his  feet  as  peni- 
tents, could  not  but  awaken  a  feeling  of  reverence 
and  awe.  In  Kidderminster,  as  in  most  other 
parishes  of  the  kingdom,  there  were  at  this  period 


RICHARD  BAXTER  153 

pious,  sober,  prayerful  people,  diligent  readers  of 
the  Scriptures,  who  were  derided  by  their  neigh- 
bors as  Puritans,  precisians,  and  hypocrites.  These 
were  naturally  drawn  towards  the  new  preacher, 
and  he  as  naturally  recognized  them  as  "  honest 
seekers  of  the  word  and  way  of  God."  Intercourse 
with  such  men,  and  the  perusal  of  the  writings  of 
certain  eminent  Non-conformists,  had  the  effect  to 
abate,  in  some  degree,  his  strong  attachment  to  the 
Episcopal  formula  and  polity.  He  began  to  doubt 
the  rightfulness  of  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  in 
baptism,  and  to  hesitate  about  administering  the 
sacrament  to  profane  swearers  and  tipplers. 

But  while  Baxter,  in  the  seclusion  of  his  parish, 
was  painfully  weighing  the  arguments  for  and 
against  the  wearing  of  surplices,  the  use  of  mar- 
riage rings,  and  the  prescribed  gestures  and  genu- 
flections of  his  order,  tithing  with  more  or  less 
scruple  of  conscience  the  mint  and  anise  and  cum- 
min of  pulpit  ceremonials,  the  weightier  matters 
of  the  law,  freedom,  justice,  and  truth  were  claim- 
ing the  attention  of  Pym  and  Hampden,  Brook  and 
Vane,  in  the  Parliament  House.  The  controversy 
between  King  and  Commons  had  reached  the  point 
where  it  could  only  be  decided  by  the  dread  arbit- 
rament of  battle.  The  somewhat  equivocal  posi- 
tion of  the  Kidderminster  preacher  exposed  him  to 
the  suspicion  of  the  adherents  of  the  King  and 
Bishops.  The  rabble,  at  that  period  sympathizing 
with  the  party  of  license  in  morals  and  strictness 
in  ceremonials,  insulted  and  mocked  him,  and 
finally  drove  him  from  his  parish. 

On  the  memorable  23d  of  tenth  month,  1642,  he 


154  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

was  invited  to  occupy  a  friend's  pulpit  at  Alcester. 
While  preaching,  a  low,  dull,  jarring  roll,  as  of 
continuous  thunder,  sounded  in  his  ears.  It  was 
the  cannon -fire  of  Edgehill,  the  prelude  to  the 
stern  battle-piece  of  revolution.  On  the  morrow, 
Baxter  hurried  to  the  scene  of  action.  "  I  was 
desirous,"  he  says,  "  to  see  the  field.  I  found  the 
Earl  of  Essex  keeping  the  ground,  and  the  King's 
army  facing  them  on  a  hill  about  a  mile  off.  There 
were  about  a  thousand  dead  bodies  in  the  field  be- 
tween them."  Turning  from  this  ghastly  survey, 
the  preacher  mingled  with  the  Parliamentary  army, 
when,  finding  the  surgeons  busy  with  the  wounded, 
he  very  naturally  sought  occasion  for  the  exercise 
of  his  own  vocation  as  a  spiritual  practitioner.  He 
attached  himself  to  the  army.  So  far  as  we  can 
gather  from  his  own  memoirs  and  the  testimony 
of  his  contemporaries,  he  was  not  influenced  to 
this  step  by  any  of  the  political  motives  which  actu- 
ated the  Parliamentary  leaders.  He  was  no  revo- 
lutionist. He  was  as  blind  and  unquestioning  in 
his  reverence  for  the  King's  person  and  divine 
right,  and  as  hearty  in  his  hatred  of  religious  tol- 
eration and  civil  equality,  as  any  of  his  clerical 
brethren  who  officiated  in  a  similar  capacity  in  the 
ranks  of  Goring  and  Prince  Rupert.  He  seems 
only  to  have  looked  upon  the  soldiers  as  a  new  set 
of  parishioners,  whom  Providence  had  thrown  in 
his  way.  The  circumstances  of  his  situation  left 
him  little  choice  in  the  matter.  "  I  had,"  he  says, 
"  neither  money  nor  friends.  I  knew  not  who 
would  receive  me  in  a  place  of  safety,  nor  had  I 
anything  to  satisfy  them  for  diet  and  entertain- 


RICHARD  BAXTER  155 

ment."  He  accepted  an  offer  to  live  in  the  Gov- 
ernor's house  at  Coventry,  and  preach  to  the  sol- 
diers of  the  garrison.  Here  his  skill  in  polemics 
was  called  into  requisition,  in  an  encounter  with 
two  New  England  Antinomians,  and  a  certain 
Anabaptist  tailor  who  was  making  more  rents  in 
the  garrison's  orthodoxy  than  he  mended  in  their 
doublets  and  breeches.  Coventry  seems  at  this 
time  to  have  been  the  rendezvous  of  a  large  body 
of  clergymen,  who,  as  Baxter  says,  were  "for 
King  and  Parliament,"  —  men  who,  in  their  desire 
for  a  more  spiritual  worship,  most  unwillingly 
found  themselves  classed  with  the  sectaries  whom 
they  regarded  as  troublers  and  heretics,  not  to  be 
tolerated ;  who  thought  the  King  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  Papists,  and  that  Essex  and 
Cromwell  were  fighting  to  restore  him ;  and  who 
followed  the  Parliamentary  forces  to  see  to  it  that 
they  were  kept  sound  in  faith,  and  free  from  the 
heresy  of  which  the  Court  News-Book  accused 
them.  Of  doing  anything  to  overturn  the  order 
of  Church  and  State,  or  of  promoting  any  radical 
change  in  the  social  and  political  condition  of  the 
people,  they  had  no  intention  whatever.  They 
looked  at  the  events  of  the  time,  and  upon  their 
duties  in  respect  to  them,  not  as  politicians  or  re- 
formers, but  simply  as  ecclesiastics  and  spiritual 
teachers,  responsible  to  God  for  the  religious  beliefs 
and  practices  of  the  people,  rather  than  for  their 
temporal  welfare  and  happiness.  They  were  not 
the  men  who  struck  down  the  solemn  and  impos- 
ing prelacy  of  England,  and  vindicated  the  divine 
right  of  men  to  freedom  by  tossing  the  head  of  an 


156  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

anointed  tyrant  from  the  scaffold  at  Whitehall.  It 
was  the  so-called  schismatics,  ranters,  and  levellers, 
the  disputatious  corporals  and  Anabaptist  musket- 
eers, the  dread  and  abhorrence  alike  of  prelate 
and  presbyter,  who,  under  the  lead  of  Cromwell, 

"  Ruined  the  great  work  of  time, 
And  cast  the  kingdoms  old 
Into  another  mould." 

The  Commonwealth  was  the  work  of  the  laity,  the 
sturdy  yeomanry  and  God-fearing  commoners  of 
England. 

The  news  of  the  fight  of  Naseby  reaching  Cov- 
entry, Baxter,  who  had  friends  in  the  Parliamentary 
forces,  wishing,  as  he  says,  to  be  assured  of  their 
safety,  passed  over  to  the  stricken  field,  and  spent 
a  night  with  them.  He  was  afflicted  and  con- 
founded by  the  information  which  they  gave  him, 
that  the  victorious  army  was  full  of  hot-headed 
schemers  and  levellers,  who  were  against  King  and 
Church,  prelacy  and  ritual,  and  who  were  for  a  free 
Commonwealth  and  freedom  of  religious  belief  and 
worship.  He  was  appalled  to  find  that  the  here- 
sies of  the  Antinomiaus,  Arminians,  and  Anabap- 
tists had  made  sadder  breaches  in  the  ranks  of 
Cromwell  than  the  pikes  of  Jacob  Astley,  or  the 
daggers  of  the  roysterers  who  followed  the  mad 
charge  of  Rupert.  Hastening  back  to  Coventry, 
he  called  together  his  clerical  brethren,  and  told 
them  "  the  sad  news  of  the  corruption  of  the  army." 
After  much  painful  consideration  of  the  matter,  it 
was  deemed  best  for  Baxter  to  enter  Cromwell's 
army,  nominally  as  its  chaplain,  but  really  as  the 
special  representative  of  orthodoxy  in  politics  and 


RICHARD  BAXTER  157 

religion,  against  the  democratic  weavers  and  proph- 
esying tailors  who  troubled  it.  He  joined  Whal- 
ley's  regiment,  and  followed  it  through  many  a  hot 
skirmish  and  siege.  Personal  fear  was  by  no  means 
one  of  Baxter's  characteristics,  and  he  bore  him- 
self through  all  with  the  coolness  of  an  old  cam- 
paigner. Intent  upon  his  single  object,  he  sat 
unmoved  under  the  hail  of  cannon-shot  from  the 
walls  of  Bristol,  confronted  the  well-plied  culverins 
of  Sherburne,  charged  side  by  side  with  Harrison 
upon  Gor ing's  musketeers  at  Langford,  and  heard 
the  exulting  thanksgiving  of  that  grim  enthusiast, 
when  "  with  a  loud  voice  he  broke  forth  in  praises 
of  God,  as  one  in  rapture ; "  and  marched,  Bible 
in  hand,  with  Cromwell  hims'elf ,  to  the  storming  of 
Basing-House,  so  desperately  defended  by  the  Mar- 
quis of  Winchester.  In  truth,  these  storms  of  out- 
ward conflict  were  to  him  of  small  moment.  He 
was  engaged  in  a  sterner  battle  with  spiritual  prin- 
cipalities and  powers,  struggling  with  Satan  him- 
self in  the  guise  of  political  levellers  and  Anti- 
nomian  sowers  of  heresy.  No  antagonist  was  too 
high  and  none  too  low  for  him.  Distrusting  Crom- 
well, he  sought  to  engage  him  in  a  discussion  of 
certain  points  of  abstract  theology,  wherein  his 
soundness  seemed  questionable  ;  but  the  wary  chief 
baffled  off  the  young  disputant  by  tedious,  unan- 
swerable discourses  about  free  grace,  which  Baxter 
admits  were  not  unsavory  to  others,  although  the 
speaker  himself  had  little  understanding  of  the 
matter.  At  other  times,  he  repelled  his  sad-visaged 
chaplain  with  unwelcome  jests  and  rough,  soldierly 
merriment ;  for  he  had  "  a  vivacity,  hilarity,  and 


158  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

alacrity  as  another  man  hath  when  he  hath  taken 
a  cup  too  much."  Baxter  says  of  him,  complain- 
ingly,  "  he  would  not  dispute  with  me  at  all."  But, 
in  the  midst  of  such  an  army,  he  could  not  lack 
abundant  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  his  pecu- 
liar powers  of  argumentation.  At  Amersham,  he 
had  a  sort  of  pitched  battle  with  the  contumacious 
soldiers.  "  When  the  public  talking  day  came," 
says  he,  "  I  took  the  reading-pew,  and  Pitchford's 
cornet  and  troopers  took  the  gallery.  There  did 
the  leader  of  the  Chesham  men  begin,  and  after- 
wards Pitchford's  soldiers  set  in ;  and  I  alone  dis- 
puted with  them  from  morning  until  almost  night ; 
for  I  knew  their  trick,  that  if  I  had  gone  out  first, 
they  would  have  prated  what  boasting  words  they 
listed,  and  made  the  people  believe  that  they  had 
baffled  me,  or  got  the  best ;  therefore  I  stayed  it  out 
till  they  first  rose  and  went  away."  As  usual  in 
such  cases,  both  parties  claimed  the  victory.  Bax- 
ter got  thanks  only  from  the  King's  adherents ; 
"  Pitchford's  troops  and  the  leader  of  the  Ches- 
ham men  "  retired  from  their  hard  day's  work,  to 
enjoy  the  countenance  and  favor  of  Cromwell,  as 
men  after  his  own  heart,  faithful  to  the  Houses  and 
the  Word,  against  kingcraft  and  prelacy. 

Laughed  at  and  held  at  arm's  length  by  Crom- 
well, shunned  by  Harrison  and  Berry  and  other 
chief  officers,  opposed  on  all  points  by  shrewd, 
earnest  men,  as  ready  for  polemic  controversy  as 
for  battle  with  the  King's  malignants,  and  who  set 
off  against  his  theological  and  metaphysical  distinc- 
tions their  own  personal  experiences  and  spiritual 
exercises,  he  had  little  to  encourage  him  in  his  ar- 


RICHARD  BAXTER  159 

duous  labors.  Alone  in  such  a  multitude,  flushed 
with  victory  and  glowing  with  religious  enthusiasm, 
he  earnestly  begged  his  brother  ministers  to  come 
to  his  aid.  "  If  the  army,"  said  he,  "  had  only  min- 
isters enough,  who  could  have  done  such  little  as  I 
did,  all  their  plot  might  have  been  broken,  and 
King,  Parliament,  and  Religion  might  have  been 
preserved."  But  no  one  volunteered  to  assist  him, 
and  the  "  plot  "  of  revolution  went  on. 

After  Worcester  fight  he  returned  to  Coventry,  to 
make  his  report  to  the  ministers  assembled  there. 
He  told  them  of  his  labors  and  trials,  of  the  growth 
of  heresy  and  levelling  principles  in  the  army,  and 
of  the  evident  design  of  its  leaders  to  pull  down 
Church,  King,  and  Ministers.  He  assured  them 
that  the  day  was  at  hand  when  all  who  were  true  to 
the  King,  Parliament,  and  Religion  should  come 
forth  to  oppose  these  leaders,  and  draw  away  their 
soldiers  from  them.  For  himself,  he  was  willing  to 
go  back  to  the  army,  and  labor  there  until  the  crisis 
of  which  he  spoke  had  arrived.  "Whereupon," 
says  he,  "  they  all  voted  me  to  go  yet  longer." 

Fortunately  for  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious 
freedom,  the  great  body  of  the  ministers,  who  dis- 
approved of  the  ultraism  of  the  victorious  army, 
and  sympathized  with  the  defeated  King,  lacked 
the  courage  and  devotedness  of  Baxter.  Had  they 
promptly  seconded  his  efforts,  although  the  resto- 
ration of  the  King  might  have  been  impossible  at 
that  late  period,  the  horrors  of  civil  war  must  have 
been  greatly  protracted.  As  it  was,  they  preferred 
to  remain  at  home,  and  let  Baxter  have  the  benefit 
of  their  prayers  and  good  wishes.  He  returned  to 


160  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  army  with  the  settled  purpose  of  causing  its 
defection  from  Cromwell ;  but,  by  one  of  those  dis- 
pensations which  the  latter  used  to  call  "  births  of 
Providence,"  he  was  stricken  down  with  severe 
sickness.  Baxter's  own  comments  upon  this  pas- 
sage in  his  life  are  not  without  interest.  He  says, 
God  prevented  his  purposes  in  his  last  and  chiefest 
opposition  to  the  army ;  that  he  intended  to  take 
off  or  seduce  from  their  officers  the  regiment  with 
which  he  was  connected,  and  then  to  have  tried  his 
persuasion  upon  the  others.  He  says  he  afterwards 
found  that  his  sickness  was  a  mercy  to  himself, 
"  for  they  were  so  strong  and  active,  and  I  had  been 
likely  to  have  had  small  success  in  the  attempt,  and 
to  have  lost  my  life  among  them  in  their  fury."  He 
was  right  in  this  last  conjecture ;  Oliver  Cromwell 
would  have  had  no  scruples  in  making  an  example 
of  a  plotting  priest ;  and  "  Pitchford's  soldiers  " 
might  have  been  called  upon  to  silence,  with  their 
muskets,  the  tough  disputant  who  was  proof  against 
their  tongues. 

After  a  long  and  dubious  illness,  Baxter  was  so 
far  restored  as  to  be  able  to  go  back  to  his  old  par- 
ish at  Kidderminster.  Here,  under  the  Protec- 
torate of  Cromwell,  he  remained  in  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  that  religious  liberty  which  he  still  stoutly 
condemned  in  its  application  to  others. 

He  afterwards  candidly  admits,  that,  under  the 
"  Usurper,"  as  he  styles  Cromwell,  "  he  had  such 
liberty  and  advantage  to  preach  the  Gospel  with 
success,  as  he  could  not  have  under  a  King,  to 
whom  he  had  sworn  and  performed  true  subjection 
and  obedience."  Yet  this  did  not  prevent  him  from 


RICHARD  BAXTER  161 

preaching  and  printing,  "  seasonably  and  moder- 
ately," against  the  Protector.  "  I  declared,"  said 
he,  "  Cromwell  and  his  adherents  to  be  guilty  of 
treason  and  rebellion,  aggravated  by  perfidiousness 
and  hypocrisy.  But  yet  I  did  not  think  it  my  duty 
to  rave  against  him  in  the  pulpit,  or  to  do  this  so 
unseasonably  and  imprudently  as  might  irritate 
him  to  mischief.  And  the  rather,  because,  as  he 
kept  up  his  approbation  of  a  godly  life  in  gen- 
eral, and  of  all  that  was  good,  except  that  which 
the  interest  of  his  sinful  cause  engaged  him  to  be 
against.  So  I  perceived  that  it  was  his  design  to 
do  good  in  the  main,  and  to  promote  the  Gospel 
and  the  interests  of  godliness  more  than  any  had 
done  before  him." 

Cromwell,  if  he  heard  of  his  diatribes  against 
him,  appears  to  have  cared  little  for  them.  Lords 
Warwick  and  Broghill,  on  one  occasion,  brought 
him  to  preach  before  the  Lord  Protector.  He 
seized  the  occasion  to  preach  against  the  sectaries, 
to  condemn  all  who  countenanced  them,  and  to  ad- 
vocate the  unity  of  the  Church.  Soon  after,  he 
was  sent  for  by  Cromwell,  who  made  "  a  long  and 
tedious  speech"  in  the  presence  of  three  of  his 
chief  men,  (one  of  whom,  General  Lambert,  fell 
asleep  the  while,)  asserting  that  God  had  owned 
his  government  in  a  signal  manner.  Baxter  boldly 
replied  to  him,  that  he  and  his  friends  regarded 
the  ancient  monarchy  as  a  blessing,  and  not  an 
evil,  and  begged  to  know  how  that  blessing  was 
forfeited  to  England,  and  to  whom  that  forfeiture 
was  made.  Cromwell,  with  some  heat,  made  an- 
swer that  it  was  no  forfeiture,  but  that  God  had 


162  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

made  the  change.  They  afterwards  held  a  long 
conference  with  respect  to  freedom  of  conscience, 
Cromwell  defending  his  liberal  policy,  and  Bax- 
ter opposing  it.  No  one  can  read  Baxter's  own 
account  of  these  interviews,  without  being  deeply 
impressed  with  the  generous  and  magnanimous 
spirit  of  the  Lord  Protector  in  tolerating  the  ut- 
most freedom  of  speech  on  the  part  of  one  who 
openly  denounced  him  as  a  traitor  and  usurper. 
Real  greatness  of  mind  could  alone  have  risen 
above  personal  resentment  under  such  circum- 
stances of  peculiar  aggravation. 

In  the  death  of  the  Protector,  the  treachery  of 
Monk,  and  the  restoration  of  the  King,  Baxter  and 
his  Presbyterian  friends  believed  that  they  saw 
the  hand  of  a  merciful  Providence  preparing  the 
way  for  the  best  good  of  England  and  the  Church. 
Always  royalists,  they  had  acted  with  the  party 
opposed  to  the  King  from  necessity  rather  than 
choice.  Considering  all  that  followed,  one  can 
scarcely  avoid  smiling  over  the  extravagant  jubila- 
tions of  the  Presbyterian  divines,  on  the  return  of 
the  royal  debauchee  to  Whitehall.  They  hurried 
up  to  London  with  congratulations  of  formidable 
length  and  papers  of  solemn  advice  and  counsel, 
to  all  which  the  careless  monarch  listened,  with 
what  patience  he  was  master  of.  Baxter  was  one 
of  the  first  to  present  himself  at  Court,  and  it  is 
creditable  to  his  heart  rather  than  his  judgment 
and  discrimination  that  he  seized  the  occasion  to 
offer  a  long  address  to  the  King,  expressive  of  his 
expectation  that  his  Majesty  would  discountenance 
all  sin  and  promote  godliness,  support  the  true 


RICHARD  BAXTER  163 

exercise  of  Church  discipline  and  cherish  and  hold 
up  the  hands  of  the  faithful  ministers  of  the 
Church.  To  all  which  Charles  II.  "  made  as 
gracious  an  answer  as  we  could  expect,"  says  Bax- 
ter, "  insomuch  that  old  Mr.  Ash  burst  out  into 
tears  of  joy."  Who  doubts  that  the  profligate 
King  avenged  himself  as  soon  as  the  backs  of  his 
unwelcome  visitors  were  fairly  turned,  by  coarse 
jests  and  ribaldry,  directed  against  a  class  of  men 
whom  he  despised  and  hated,  but  towards  whom, 
reasons  of  policy  dictated  a  show  of  civility  and 
kindness  ? 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Charles  II.,  had 
he  been  able  to  effect  his  purpose,  would  have 
gone  beyond  Cromwell  himself  in  the  matter  of 
religious  toleration ;  in  other  words,  he  would  have 
taken,  in  the  outset  of  his  reign,  the  very  steps 
which  cost  his  successor  his  crown,  and  procured 
the  toleration  of  Catholics  by  a  declaration  of  uni- 
versal freedom  in  religion.  But  he  was  not  in  a 
situation  to  brave  the  opposition  alike  of  Prelacy 
and  Presbyterianism,  and  foiled  in  a  scheme  to 
which  he  was  prompted  by  that  vague,  superstitious 
predilection  for  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  which 
at  times  struggled  with  his  habitual  scepticism,  his 
next  object  was  to  rid  himself  of  the  importunities 
of  sectaries  and  the  trouble  of  religious  controver- 
sies by  reestablishing  the  liturgy,  and  bribing  or 
enforcing  conformity  to  it  on  the  part  of  the  Pres- 
byterians. The  history  of  the  successful  execution 
of  this  purpose  is  familiar  to  all  the  readers  of  the 
plausible  pages  of  Clarendon  on  the  one  side,  or 
the  complaining  treatises  of  Neal  and  Calamy  on 


164  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  other.  Charles  and  his  advisers  triumphed, 
not  so  much  through  their  own  art,  dissimula- 
tion, and  bad  faith  as  through  the  blind  bigotry, 
divided  counsels,  and  self-seeking  of  the  Non-con- 
formists. Seduction  on  one  hand  and  threats  on 
the  other,  the  bribe  of  bishoprics,  hatred  of  Inde- 
pendents and  Quakers,  and  the  terror  of  penal 
laws,  broke  the  strength  of  Presbyterianism. 

Baxter's  whole  conduct,  on  this  occasion,  bears 
testimony  to  his  honesty  and  sincerity,  while  it 
shows  him  to  have  been  too  intolerant  to  secure  his 
own  religious  freedom  at  the  price  of  toleration  for 
Catholics,  Quakers,  and  Anabaptists;  and  too 
blind  in  his  loyalty  to  perceive  that  pure  and  un- 
defiled  Christianity  had  nothing  to  hope  for  from 
a  scandalous  and  depraved  King,  surrounded  by 
scoffing,  licentious  courtiers  and  a  haughty,  re- 
vengeful prelacy.  To  secure  his  influence,  the 
Court  offered  him  the  bishopric  of  Hereford. 
Superior  to  personal  considerations,  he  declined 
the  honor;  but  somewhat  inconsistently,  in  his 
zeal  for  the  interests  of  his  party,  he  urged  the 
elevation  of  at  least  three  of  his  Presbyterian 
friends  to  the  Episcopal  bench,  to  enforce  that 
very  liturgy  which  they  condemned.  He  was  the 
chief  speaker  for  the  Presbyterians  at  the  famous 
Savoy  Conference,  summoned  to  advise  and  con- 
sult upon  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  His  an- 
tagonist was  Dr.  Gunning,  ready,  fluent,  and  im- 
passioned. "  They  spent,"  as  Gilbert  Burnet  says, 
"  several  days  in  logical  arguing,  to  the  diversion 
of  the  town,  who  looked  upon  them  as  a  couple  of 
fencers,  engaged  in  a  discussion  which  could  not 


RICHARD  BAXTER  165 

be  brought  to  an  end."  In  themselves  considered, 
many  of  the  points  at  issue  seem  altogether  too 
trivial  for  the  zeal  with  which  Baxter  contested 
them,  —  the  form  of  a  surplice,  the  wording  of  a 
prayer,  kneeling  at  sacrament,  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  etc.  With  him,  however,  they  were  of  mo- 
mentous interest  and  importance,  as  things  unlaw- 
ful in  the  worship  of  God.  He  struggled  desper- 
ately, but  unavailingly.  Presbyterianism,  in  its 
eagerness  for  peace  and  union  and  a  due  share  of 
State  support,  had  already  made  fatal  concessions, 
and  it  was  too  late  to  stand  upon  non-essentials. 
Baxter  retired  from  the  conference  baffled  and  de- 
feated, amidst  murmurs  and  jests.  "  If  you  had 
only  been  as  fat  as  Dr.  Manton,"  said  Clarendon 
to  him,  "  you  would  have  done  well." 

The  Act  of  Conformity,  in  which  Charles  II. 
and  his  counsellors  gave  the  lie  to  the  liberal 
declarations  of  Breda  and  Whitehall,  drove  Baxter 
from  his  sorrowing  parishioners  of  Kidderminster, 
and  added  the  evils  of  poverty  and  persecution 
to  the  painful  bodily  infirmities  under  which  he 
was  already  bowed  down.  Yet  his  cup  was  not 
one  of  unalloyed  bitterness,  and  loving  lips  were 
prepared  to  drink  it  with  him. 

Among  Baxter's  old  parishioners  of  Kiddermin- 
ster was  a  widowed  lady  of  gentle  birth,  named 
Charlton,  who,  with  her  daughter  Margaret,  occu- 
pied a  house  in  his  neighborhood.  The  daughter 
was  a  brilliant  girl,  of  "  strangely  vivid  wit,"  and 
"  in  early  youth,"  he  tells  us,  "  pride,  and  ro- 
mances, and  company  suitable  thereunto,  did  take 
her  up."  But  erelong,  Baxter,  who  acted  in  the 


166  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

double  capacity  of  spiritual  and  temporal  physi- 
cian, was  sent  for  to  visit  her,  on  an  occasion  of 
sickness.  He  ministered  to  her  bodily  and  mental 
sufferings,  and  thus  secured  her  gratitude  and  con- 
fidence. On  her  recovery,  under  the  influence  of 
his  warnings  and  admonitions,  the  gay  young  girl 
became  thoughtful  and  serious,  abandoned  her  light 
books  and  companions,  and  devoted  herself  to  the 
duties  of  a  Christian  profession.  Baxter  was  her 
counsellor  and  confidant.  She  disclosed  to  him  all 
her  doubts,  trials,  and  temptations,  and  he,  in  re- 
turn, wrote  her  long  letters  of  sympathy,  consola- 
tion, and  encouragement.  He  began  to  feel  such 
an  unwonted  interest  in  the  moral  and  spiritual 
growth  of  his  young  disciple,  that,  in  his  daily 
walks  among  his  parishioners,  he  found  himself 
inevitably  drawn  towards  her  mother's  dwelling. 
In  her  presence,  the  habitual  austerity  of  his  man- 
ner was  softened  ;  his  cold,  close  heart  warmed 
and  expanded.  He  began  to  repay  her  confidence 
with  his  own,  disclosing  to  her  all  his  plans  of 
benevolence,  soliciting  her  services,  and  waiting, 
with  deference,  for  her  judgment  upon  them.  A 
change  came  over  his  habits  of  thought  and  his 
literary  tastes ;  the  harsh,  rude  disputant,  the 
tough,  dry  logician,  found  himself  addressing  to 
his  young  friend  epistles  in  verse  on  doctrinal 
points  and  matters  of  casuistry ;  Westminster  Cat- 
echism in  rhyme ;  the  Solemn  League  and  Cov- 
enant set  to  music.  A  miracle  alone  could  have 
made  Baxter  a  poet ;  the  cold,  clear  light  of  rea- 
son "  paled  the  ineffectual  fires "  of  his  imagina- 
tion ;  all  things  presented  themselves  to  his  vision 


RICHARD  BAXTER  167 

"  with  hard  outlines,  colorless,  and  with  no  sur- 
rounding atmosphere."  That  he  did,  nevertheless, 
write  verses,  so  creditable  as  to  justify  a  judicious 
modern  critic  in  their  citation  and  approval,  can 
perhaps  be  accounted  for  only  as  one  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  that  subtle  and  transforming  influence 
to  which  even  his  stern  nature  was  unconsciously 
yielding.  Baxter  was  in  love. 

Never  did  the  blind  god  try  his  archery  on  a 
more  unpromising  subject.  Baxter  was  nearly 
fifty  years  of  age,  and  looked  still  older.  His  life 
had  been  one  long  fast  and  penance.  Even  in 
youth  he  had  never  known  a  schoolboy's  love  for 
cousin  or  playmate.  He  had  resolutely  closed  up 
his  heart  against  emotions  which  he  regarded  as 
the  allurements  of  time  and  sense.  He  had  made 
a  merit  of  celibacy,  and  written  and  published 
against  the  entanglement  of  godly  ministers  in 
matrimonial  engagements  and  family  cares.  It  is 
questionable  whether  he  now  understood  his  own 
case,  or  attributed  to  its  right  cause  the  peculiar 
interest  which  he  felt  in  Margaret  Charlton.  Left 
to  himself,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  he  might 
never  have  discovered  the  true  nature  of  that  in- 
terest, or  conjectured  that  anything  whatever  of 
earthly  passion  or  sublunary  emotion  had  mingled 
with  his  spiritual  Platonism.  Commissioned  and 
set  apart  to  preach  repentance  to  dying  men,  pen- 
niless and  homeless,  worn  with  bodily  pain  and 
mental  toil,  and  treading,  as  he  believed,  on  the 
very  margin  of  his  grave,  what  had  he  to  do  with 
love  ?  What  power  had  he  to  inspire  that  tender 
sentiment,  the  appropriate  offspring  only  of  youth, 
and  health,  and  beauty  ? 


168  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"  Could  any  Beatrice  see 
A  lover  in  such  anchorite !  " 

But  in  the  mean  time  a  reciprocal  feeling  was 
gaining  strength  in  the  heart  of  Margaret.  To 
her  grateful  appreciation  of  the  condescension  of 
a  great  and  good  man  —  grave,  learned,  and  re- 
nowned —  to  her  youth  and  weakness,  and  to  her 
enthusiastic  admiration  of  his  intellectual  powers, 
devoted  to  the  highest  and  holiest  objects,  suc- 
ceeded naturally  enough  the  tenderly  suggestive 
pity  of  her  woman's  heart,  as  she  thought  of  his 
lonely  home,  his  unshared  sorrows,  his  lack  of 
those  sympathies  and  kindnesses  which  make 
tolerable  the  hard  journey  of  life.  Did  she  not 
owe  to  him,  under  God,  the  salvation  of  body  and 
mind?  Was  he  not  her  truest  and  most  faithful 
friend,  entering  with  lively  interest  into  all  her 
joys  and  sorrows  ?  Had  she  not  seen  the  cloud  of 
his  habitual  sadness  broken  by  gleams  of  sunny 
warmth  and  cheerfulness,  as  they  conversed  to- 
gether ?  Could  she  do  better  than  devote  herself 
to  the  pleasing  task  of  making  his  life  happier,  of 
comforting  him  in  seasons  of  pain  and  weariness, 
encouraging  him  in  his  vast  labors,  and  throwing 
over  the  cold  and  hard  austerities  of  his  nature  the 
warmth  and  light  of  domestic  affection?  Pity, 
reverence,  gratitude,  and  womanly  tenderness,  her 
fervid  imagination  and  the  sympathies  of  a  deeply 
religious  nature,  combined  to  influence  her  deci- 
sion. Disparity  of  age  and  condition  rendered  it 
improbable  that  Baxter  would  ever  venture  to  ad- 
dress her  in  any  other  capacity  than  that  of  a 
friend  and  teacher ;  and  it  was  left  to  herself  to 


RICHARD  BAXTER  169 

give  the  first  intimation  of  the  possibility  of  a  more 
intimate  relation. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  with  what  mixed  feelings 
of  joy,  surprise,  and  perplexity  Baxter  must  have 
received  the  delicate  avowal.  There  was  much  in 
the  circumstances  of  the  case  to  justify  doubt,  mis- 
giving, and  close  searchings  of  heart.  He  must 
have  felt  the  painful  contrast  which  that  fair  girl 
in  the  bloom  of  her  youth  presented  to  the  worn 
man  of  middle  years,  whose  very  breath  was  suf- 
fering, and  over  whom  death  seemed  always  im- 
pending. Keenly  conscious  of  his  infirmities  of 
temper,  he  must  have  feared  for  the  happiness  of 
a  loving,  gentle  being,  daily  exposed  to  their  mani- 
festations. From  his  well-known  habit  of  consult- 
ing what  he  regarded  as  the  divine  will  in  every 
important  step  of  his  life,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  his  decision  was  the  result  quite  as  much  of  a 
prayerful  and  patient  consideration  of  duty  as  of 
the  promptings  of  his  heart.  Richard  Baxter  was 
no  impassioned  Abelard;  his  pupil  in  the  school 
of  his  severe  and  self-denying  piety  was  no  Heloise ; 
but  what  their  union  lacked  in  romantic  interest 
was  compensated  by  its  purity  and  disinterested- 
ness, and  its  sanction  by  all  that  can  hallow  human 
passion,  and  harmonize  the  love  of  the  created 
with  the  love  and  service  of  the  Creator. 

Although  summoned  by  a  power  which  it  would 
have  been  folly  to  resist,  the  tough  theologian  did 
not  surrender  at  discretion.  "From  the  first 
thoughts  yet  many  changes  and  stoppages  inter- 
vened, and  long  delays,"  he  tells  us.  The  terms 
upon  which  he  finally  capitulated  are  perfectly  in 


170  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

keeping  with  his  character.  "  She  consented,"  he 
says,  "  to  three  conditions  of  our  marriage.  1st. 
That  I  should  have  nothing  that  before  our  mar- 
riage was  hers ;  that  I,  who  wanted  no  earthly 
supplies,  might  not  seem  to  marry  her  from  selfish- 
ness. 2d.  That  she  would  so  alter  her  affairs  that 
I  might  be  entangled  in  no  lawsuits.  3d.  That  she 
should  expect  none  of  my  time  which  my  min- 
isterial work  should  require." 

As  was  natural,  the  wits  of  the  Court  had  their 
jokes  upon  this  singular  marriage ;  and  many  of 
his  best  friends  regretted  it,  when  they  called  to 
mind  what  he  had  written  in  favor  of  ministerial 
celibacy,  at  a  time  when,  as  he  says,  "  he  thought 
to  live  and  die  a  bachelor."  But  Baxter  had  no 
reason  to  regret  the  inconsistency  of  his  precept 
and  example.  How  much  of  the  happiness  of  the 
next  twenty  years  of  his  life  resulted  from  his 
union  with  a  kind  and  affectionate  woman  he  has 
himself  testified,  in  his  simple  and  touching  Bre- 
viate  of  the  Life  of  the  late  Mrs.  Baxter.  Her 
affections  were  so  ardent  that  her  husband  con- 
fesses his  fear  that  he  was  unable  to  make  an 
adequate  return,  and  that  she  must  have  been 
disappointed  in  him  in  consequence.  He  extols 
her  pleasant  conversation,  her  active  benevolence, 
her  disposition  to  aid  him  in  all  his  labors,  and  her 
noble  forgetfulness  of  self,  in  ministering  to  his 
comfort  in  sickness  and  imprisonment.  "  She  was 
the  meetest  helper  I  could  have  had  in  the  world," 
is  his  language.  "  If  I  spoke  harshly  or  sharply,  it 
offended  her.  If  I  carried  it  (as  I  am  apt)  with  too 
much  negligence  of  ceremony  or  humble  compliment 


RICHARD  BAXTER  171 

to  any,  she  would  modestly  tell  me  of  it.  If  my 
looks  seemed  not  pleasant,  she  would  have  me 
amend  them  (which  my  weak,  pained  state  of 
body  indisposed  me  to  do)."  He  admits  she  had 
her  failings,  but,  taken  as  a  whole,  the  Breviate  is 
an  exalted  eulogy. 

His  history  from  this  time  is  marked  by  few  in- 
cidents of  a  public  character.  During  that  most 
disgraceful  period  in  the  annals  of  England,  the 
reign  of  the  second  Charles,  his  peculiar  position 
exposed  him  to  the  persecutions  of  prelacy  and 
the  taunts  and  abuse  of  the  sectaries,  standing  as 
he  did  between  these  extremes,  and  pleading  for  a 
moderate  Episcopacy.  He  was  between  the  upper 
millstone  of  High  Church  and  the  nether  one  of 
Dissent.  To  use  his  own  simile,  he  was  like  one 
who  seeks  to  fill  with  his  hand  a  cleft  in  a  log,  and 
feels  both  sides  close  upon  him  with  pain.  All 
parties  and  sects  had,  as  they  thought,  grounds 
of  complaint  against  him.  There  was  in  him  an 
almost  childish  simplicity  of  purpose,  a  headlong 
earnestness  and  eagerness,  which  did  not  allow 
him  to  consider  how  far  a  present  act  or  opinion 
harmonized  with  what  he  had  already  done  or 
written.  His  greatest  admirers  admit  his  lack  of 
judgment,  his  inaptitude  for  the  management  of 
practical  matters.  His  utter  incapacity  to  compre- 
hend rightly  the  public  men  and  measures  of  his 
day  is  abundantly  apparent ;  and  the  inconsist- 
encies of  his  conduct  and  his  writings  are  too 
marked  to  need  comment.  He  suffered  persecu- 
tion for  not  conforming  to  some  trifling  matters  of 
Church  usage,  while  he  advocated  the  doctrine  of 


172  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

passive  obedience  to  the  King  or  ruling  power, 
and  the  right  of  that  power  to  enforce  conformity. 
He  wrote  against  conformity  while  himself  con- 
forming ;  seceded  from  the  Church,  and  yet  held 
stated  communion  with  it ;  begged  for  the  curacy  of 
Kidderminster,  and  declined  the  bishopric  of  Here- 
ford. His  writings  were  many  of  them  directly 
calculated  to  make  Dissenters  from  the  Establish- 
ment, but  he  was  invariably  offended  to  find  oth- 
ers practically  influenced  by  them,  and  quarrelled 
with  his  own  converts  to  Dissent.  The  High 
Churchmen  of  Oxford  burned  his  Holy  Common- 
wealth as  seditious  and  revolutionary  ;  while  Har- 
rington and  the  republican  club  of  Miles's  Coffee- 
House  condemned  it  for  its  hostility  to  democracy 
and  its  servile  doctrine  of  obedience  to  kings. 
He  made  noble  pleas  for  liberty  of  conscience 
and  bitterly  complained  of  his  own  suffering  from 
Church  courts,  yet  maintained  the  necessity  of  en- 
forcing conformity,  and  stoutly  opposed  the  tol- 
erant doctrines  of  Penn  and  Milton.  Never  did  a 
great  and  good  man  so  entangle  himself  with  con- 
tradictions and  inconsistencies.  The  witty  and 
wicked  Sir  Roger  L'Estrange  compiled  from  the 
irreconcilable  portions  of  his  works  a  laughable 
Dialogue  between  Richard  and  Baxter.  The 
Antinomians  found  him  guilty  of  Socinianism ; 
and  one  noted  controversialist  undertook  to  show, 
not  without  some  degree  of  plausibility,  that  he 
was  by  turns  a  Quaker  and  a  Papist ! 

Although  able  to  suspend  his  judgment  and 
carefully  weigh  evidence,  upon  matters  which  he 
regarded  as  proper  subjects  of  debate  and  scrutiny, 


RICHARD  BAXTER  173 

he  possessed  the  power  to  shut  out  and  banish  at 
will  all  doubt  and  misgiving  in  respect  to  whatever 
tended  to  prove,  illustrate,  or  enforce  his  settled 
opinions  and  cherished  doctrines.  His  credulity 
at  times  seems  boundless.  Hating  the  Quakers, 
and  prepared  to  believe  all  manner  of  evil  of  them, 
he  readily  came  to  the  conclusion  that  their  lead- 
ers were  disguised  Papists.  He  maintained  that 
Lauderdale  was  a  good  and  pious  man,  in  spite  of 
atrocities  in  Scotland  which  entitle  him  to  a  place 
with  Claverhouse ;  and  indorsed  the  character  of 
the  infamous  Dangerfield,  the  inventor  of  the 
Meal-tub  Plot,  as  a  worthy  convert  from  popish 
errors.  To  prove  the  existence  of  devils  and 
spirits,  he  collected  the  most  absurd  stories  and 
old-wives'  fables,  of  soldiers  scared  from  their 
posts  at  night  by  headless  bears,  of  a  young  witch 
pulling  the  hooks  out  of  Mr.  Emlen's  breeches  and 
swallowing  them,  of  Mr.  Beacham's  locomotive 
tobacco-pipe,  and  the  Kev.  Mr.  Munn's  jumping 
Bible,  and  of  a  drunken  man  punished  for  his  in- 
temperance by  being  lifted  off  his  legs  by  an  invis- 
ible hand!  Cotton  Mather's  marvellous  account 
of  his  witch  experiments  in  New  England  delighted 
him.  He  had  it  republished,  declaring  that  "he 
must  be  an  obstinate  Sadducee  who  doubted  it." 

The  married  life  of  Baxter,  as  might  be  inferred 
from  the  state  of  the  times,  was  an  unsettled  one. 
He  first  took  a  house  at  Moorfields,  then  removed 
to  Acton,  where  he  enjoyed  the  conversation  of 
his  neighbor,  Sir  Matthew  Hale ;  from  thence  he 
found  refuge  in  Bickmansworth,  and  after  that  in 
divers  other  places.  "  The  women  have  most  of 


174  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

this  trouble,"  he  remarks,  "  but  my  wife  easily 
bore  it  all."  When  unable  to  preach,  his  rapid 
pen  was  always  busy.  Huge  folios  of  controversial 
and  doctrinal  lore  followed  each  other  in  quick 
succession.  He  assailed  Popery  and  the  Estab- 
lishment, Anabaptists,  ultra  Calvinists,  Antino- 
inians,  Fifth  Monarchy  men,  and  Quakers.  His 
hatred  of  the  latter  was  only  modified  by  his  con- 
tempt. He  railed  rather  than  argued  against  the 
"  miserable  creatures,"  as  he  styled  them.  They 
in  turn  answered  him  in  like  manner.  "  The 
Quakers,"  he  says,  "  in  their  shops,  when  I  go 
along  London  streets,  say,  '  Alas !  poor  man,  thou 
art  yet  in  darkness.'  They  have  oft  come  to  the 
congregation,  when  I  had  liberty  to  preach  Christ's 
Gospel,  and  cried  out  against  me  as  a  deceiver  of 
the  people.  They  have  followed  me  home,  crying 
out  in  the  streets, '  The  day  of  the  Lord  is  coming, 
and  thou  shalt  perish  as  a  deceiver.'  They  have 
stood  in  the  market-place,  and  under  my  window, 
year  after  year,  crying  to  the  people,  '  Take  heed 
of  your  priests,  they  deceive  your  souls ; '  and  if 
any  one  wore  a  lace  or  neat  clothing,  they  cried 
out  to  me, '  These  are  the  fruits  of  your  ministry.' " 
At  Rickmansworth,  he  found  himself  a  neighbor 
of  William  Penn,  whom  he  calls  "  the  captain  of 
the  Quakers."  Ever  ready  for  battle,  Baxter  en- 
countered him  in  a  public  discussion,  with  such 
fierceness  and  bitterness  as  to  force  from  that  mild 
and  amiable  civilian  the  remark,  that  he  would 
rather  be  Socrates  at  the  final  judgment  than 
Richard  Baxter.  Both  lived  to  know  each  other 
better,  and  to  entertain  sentiments  of  mutual 


RICHARD  BAXTER  175 

esteem.  Baxter  himself  admits  that  the  Quakers, 
by  their  perseverance  in  holding  their  religious 
meetings  in  defiance  of  penal  laws,  took  upon 
themselves  the  burden  of  persecution  which  would 
otherwise  have  fallen  upon  himself  and  his  friends ; 
and  makes  special  mention  of  the  noble  and  suc- 
cessful plea  of  Penn  before  the  Recorder's  Court 
in  London,  based  on  the  fundamental  liberties  of 
Englishmen  and  the  rights  of  the  Great  Charter. 

The  intolerance  of  Baxter  towards  the  Separa- 
tists was  turned  against  him  whenever  he  appealed 
to  the  King  and  Parliament  against  the  proscrip- 
tion of  himself  and  his  friends.  "  They  gathered," 
he  complains,  "  out  of  mine  and  other  men's  books 
all  that  we  had  said  against  liberty  for  Popery  and 
Quakers  railing  against  ministers  in  open  congre- 
gation, and  applied  it  as  against  the  toleration  of 
ourselves."  It  was  in  vain  that  he  explained  that 
he  was  only  in  favor  of  a  gentle  coercion  of  dissent, 
a  moderate  enforcement  of  conformity.  His  plan 
for  dealing  with  sectaries  reminds  one  of  old  Isaak 
Walton's  direction  to  his  piscatorial  readers,  to 
impale  the  frog  on  the  hook  as  gently  as  if  they 
loved  him. 

While  at  Acton,  he  was  complained  of  by  Dr. 
Ryves,  the  rector,  one  of  the  King's  chaplains  in 
ordinary,  for  holding  religious  services  in  his  fam- 
ily with  more  than  five  strangers  present.  He  was 
cast  into  Clerkenwell  jail,  whither  his  faithful  wife 
followed  him.  On  his  discharge,  he  sought  refuge 
in  the  hamlet  of  Totteridge,  where  he  wrote  and 
published  that  Paraphrase  on  the  New  Testament 
which  was  made  the  ground  of  his  prosecution  and 
trial  before  Jeffreys. 


176  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

On  the  14th  of  the  sixth  month,  1681,  he  was 
called  to  endure  the  greatest  affliction  of  his  life. 
His  wife  died  on  that  day,  after  a  brief  illness. 
She  who  had  been  his  faithful  friend,  companion, 
and  nurse  for  twenty  years  was  called  away  from 
him  in  the  time  of  his  greatest  need  of  her  min- 
istrations. He  found  consolation  in  dwelling  on 
her  virtues  and  excellences  in  the  Breviate  of  her 
life ;  "  a  paper  monument,"  he  says,  "  erected  by 
one  who  is  following  her  even  at  the  door  in  some 
passion  indeed  of  love  and  grief."  In  the  preface 
to  his  poetical  pieces  he  alludes  to  her  in  terms  of 
touching  simplicity  and  tenderness :  "  As  these 
pieces  were  mostly  written  in  various  passions,  so 
passion  hath  now  thrust  them  out  into  the  world. 
God  having  taken  away  the  dear  companion  of  the 
last  nineteen  years  of  my  life,  as  her  sorrows  and 
sufferings  long  ago  gave  being  to  some  of  these 
poems,  for  reasons  which  the  world  is  not  concerned 
to  know ;  so  my  grief  for  her  removal,  and  the 
revival  of  the  sense  of  former  things,  have  prevailed 
upon  me  to  be  passionate  in  the  sight  of  all." 

The  circumstances  of  his  trial  before  the  judicial 
monster,  Jeffreys,  are  too  well  known  to  justify 
their  detail  in  this  sketch.  He  was  sentenced  to 
pay  a  fine  of  five  hundred  marks.  Seventy  years 
of  age,  and  reduced  to  poverty  by  former  persecu- 
tions, he  was  conveyed  to  the  King's  Bench  prison. 
Here  for  two  years  he  lay  a  victim  to  intense  bod- 
ily suffering.  When,  through  the  influence  of  his 
old  antagonist,  Penn,  he  was  restored  to  freedom, 
he  was  already  a  dying  man.  But  he  came  forth 
from  prison  as  he  entered  it,  unsubdued  in  spirit. 


RICHARD  BAXTER  177 

Urged  to  sign  a  declaration  of  thanks  to  James  II., 
his  soul  put  on  the  athletic  habits  of  youth,  and  he 
stoutly  refused  to  commend  an  act  of  toleration 
which  had  given  freedom  not  to  himself  alone,  but 
to  Papists  and  sectaries.  Shaking  off  the  dust  of 
the  Court  from  his  feet,  he  retired  to  a  dwelling  in 
Charter-House  Square,  near  his  friend  Sylvester's, 
and  patiently  awaited  his  deliverance.  His  death 
was  quiet  and  peaceful.  "  I  have  pain,"  he  said 
to  his  friend  Mather ;  "  there  is  no  arguing  against 
sense;  but  I  have  peace.  I  have  peace."  On 
being  asked  how  he  did,  he  answered,  in  memora- 
ble words,  "  Almost  well !  " 

He  was  buried  in  Christ  Church,  where  the  re- 
mains of  his  wife  and  her  mother  had  been  placed. 
An  immense  concourse  attended  his  funeral,  of  all 
ranks  and  parties.  Conformist  and  Non-conform- 
ist forgot  the  bitterness  of  the  controversialist,  and 
remembered  only  the  virtues  and  the  piety  of  the 
man.  Looking  back  on  his  life  of  self-denial  and 
faithfulness  to  apprehended  duty,  the  men  who  had 
persecuted  him  while  living  wept  over  his  grave. 
During  the  last  few  years  of  his  life,  the  severity 
of  his  controversial  tone  had  been  greatly  softened ; 
he  lamented  his  former  lack  of  charity,  the  circle 
of  his  sympathies  widened,  his  social  affections  grew 
stronger  with  age,  and  love  for  his  fellow-men  uni- 
versally, and  irrespective  of  religious  differences, 
increased  within  him.  In  his  Narrative,  written 
in  the  long,  cool  shadows  of  the  evening  of  life, 
he  acknowledges  with  extraordinary  candor  this 
change  in  his  views  and  feelings.  He  confesses 
his  imperfections  as  a  writer  and  public  teacher. 


178  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"  I  wish,"  he  says,  "  all  over-sharp  passages  were 
expunged  from  my  writings,  and  I  ask  forgiveness 
of  God  and  man."  He  tells  us  that  mankind  ap- 
pear more  equal  to  him  ;  the  good  are  not  so  good 
as  he  once  thought,  nor  the  bad  so  evil ;  and  that 
in  all  there  is  more  for  grace  to  make  advantage 
of,  and  more  to  testify  for  God  and  holiness,  than 
he  once  believed.  "  I  less  admire,"  he  continues, 
"  gifts  of  utterance,  and  the  bare  profession  of  re- 
ligion, than  I  once  did,  and  have  now  much  more 
charity  for  those  who,  by  want  of  gifts,  do  make  an 
obscurer  profession." 

He  laments  the  effects  of  his  constitutional  irrita- 
bility and  impatience  upon  his  social  intercourse 
and  his  domestic  relations,  and  that  his  bodily  in- 
firmities did  not  allow  him  a  free  expression  of  the 
tenderness  and  love  of  his  heart.  Who  does  not 
feel  the  pathos  and  inconsolable  regret  which  dic- 
tated the  following  paragraph  ? 

"  When  God  forgiveth  me,  I  cannot  forgive 
myself,  especially  for  my  rash  words  and  deeds  by 
which  I  have  seemed  injurious  and  less  tender  and 
kind  than  I  should  have  been  to  my  near  and 
dear  relations,  whose  love  abundantly  obliged  me. 
When  such  are  dead,  though  we  never  differed  in 
point  of  interest  or  any  other  matter,  every  sour  or 
cross  or  provoking  word  which  I  gave  them  maketh 
me  almost  irreconcilable  to  myself,  and  tells  me 
how  repentance  brought  some  of  old  to  pray  to  the 
dead  whom  they  had  wronged  to  forgive  them,  in 
the  hurry  of  their  passion." 

His  pride  as  a  logician  and  skilful  disputant 
abated  in  the  latter  and  better  portion  of  his  life ; 


RICHARD  BAXTER  179 

he  had  more  deference  to  the  judgment  of  others, 
and  more  distrust  of  his  own.  "  You  admire,"  said 
he  to  a  correspondent  who  had  lauded  his  charac- 
ter, "  one  you  do  not  know ;  knowledge  will  cure 
your  error."  In  his  Narrative  he  writes :  "  I 
am  much  more  sensible  than  heretofore  of  the 
breadth  and  length  and  depth  of  the  radical,  uni- 
versal, odious  sin  of  selfishness,  and  therefore  have 
written  so  much  against  it ;  and  of  the  excellency 
and  necessity  of  self-denial  and  of  a  public  mind, 
and  of  loving  our  neighbors  as  ourselves."  Against 
many  difficulties  and  discouragements,  both  within 
himself  and  in  his  outward  circumstances,  he  strove 
to  make  his  life  and  conversation  an  expression  of 
that  Christian  love  whose  root,  as  he  has  said  with 
equal  truth  and  beauty, 

"  is  set 

In  humble  self-denial,  undertrod, 
While  flower  and  fruit  are  growing  up  to  God."  x 

Of  the  great  mass  of  his  writings,  more  volumi- 
nous than  those  of  any  author  of  his  time,  it  would 
ill  become  us  to  speak  with  confidence.  We  are 
familiar  only  with  some  of  the  best  of  his  practical 
works,  and  our  estimate  of  the  vast  and  appalling 
series  of  his  doctrinal,  metaphysical,  and  controver- 
sial publications  would  be  entitled  to  small  weight, 
as  the  result  of  very  cursory  examination.  Many 
of  them  relate  to  obsolete  questions  and  issues,  mon- 
umental of  controversies  long  dead,  and  of  dis- 
putatious doctors  otherwise  forgotten.  Yet,  in  re- 
spect to  even  these,  we  feel  justified  in  assenting  to 
the  opinion  of  one  abundantly  capable  of  appre- 
1  Poetical  Fragments,  by  R.  Baxter,  p.  16. 


180  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

elating  the  character  of  Baxter  as  a  writer.  "  What 
works  of  Mr.  Baxter  shall  I  read  ?  "  asked  Boswell 
of  Dr.  Johnson.  "  Read  any  of  them,"  was  the 
answer,  "  for  they  are  all  good."  He  has  left 
upon  all  the  impress  of  his  genius.  Many  of  them 
contain  sentiments  which  happily  find  favor  with 
few  in  our  time  :  philosophical  and  psychological 
disquisitions,  which  look  oddly  enough  in  the  light 
of  the  intellectual  progress  of  nearly  two  centuries ; 
dissertations  upon  evil  spirits,  ghosts,  and  witches, 
which  provoke  smiles  at  the  good  man's  credulity  ; 
but  everywhere  we  find  unmistakable  evidences  of 
his  sincerity  and  earnest  love  of  truth.  He  wrote 
under  a  solemn  impression  of  duty,  allowing  neither 
pain,  nor  weakness,  nor  the  claims  of  friendship,  nor 
the  social  enjoyments  of  domestic  affection,  to  in- 
terfere with  his  sleepless  intensity  of  purpose.  He 
stipulated  with  his  wife,  before  marriage,  that  she 
should  not  expect  him  to  relax,  even  for  her  society, 
the  severity  of  his  labors.  He  could  ill  brook  in- 
terruption, and  disliked  the  importunity  of  visitors. 
"  We  are  afraid,  sir,  we  break  in  upon  your  time," 
said  some  of  his  callers  to  him  upon  one  occasion. 
"  To  be  sure  you  do,"  was  his  answer.  His  seri- 
ousness seldom  forsook  him;  there  is  scarce  a 
gleam  of  gayety  in  all  his  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
eight  volumes.  He  seems  to  have  relished,  how- 
ever, the  wit  of  others,  especially  when  directed 
against  what  he  looked  upon  as  error.  Marvell's 
inimitable  reply  to  the  High-Church  pretensions 
of  Parker  fairly  overcame  his  habitual  gravity,  and 
he  several  times  alludes  to  it  with  marked  satisfac- 
tion ;  but,  for  himself,  he  had  no  heart  for  pleas- 


RICHARD  BAXTER  181 

antry.  His  writings,  like  his  sermons,  were  the 
earnest  expostulations  of  a  dying  man  with  dying 
men.  He  tells  us  of  no  other  amusement  or  relax- 
ation than  the  singing  of  psalms.  "  Harmony  and 
melody,"  said  he,  "  are  the  pleasure  and  elevation 
of  my  soul.  It  was  not  the  least  comfort  that  I  had 
in  the  converse  of  my  late  dear  wife,  that  our  first 
act  in  the  morning  and  last  in  bed  at  night  was  a 
psalm  of  praise." 

It  has  been  fashionable  to  speak  of  Baxter  as  a 
champion  of  civil  and  religious  freedom.  He  has 
little  claim  to  such  a  reputation.  He  was  the  stanch 
advocate  of  monarchy,  and  of  the  right  and  duty 
of  the  State  to  enforce  conformity  to  what  he 
regarded  as  the  essentials  of  religious  belief  and 
practice.  No  one  regards  the  prelates  who  went 
to  the  Tower,  under  James  II.,  on  the  ground  of 
conscientious  scruples  against  reading  the  King's 
declaration  of  toleration  to  Dissenters,  as  martyrs 
in  the  cause  of  universal  religious  freedom.  Nor 
can  Baxter,  although  he  wrote  much  against  the 
coercion  and  silencing  of  godly  ministers,  and  suf- 
fered imprisonment  himself  for  the  sake  of  a  good 
conscience,  be  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  an  intel- 
ligent and  consistent  confessor  of  liberty.  He  did 
not  deny  the  abstract  right  of  ecclesiastical  coercion, 
but  complained  of  its  exercise  upon  himself  and  his 
friends  as  unwarranted  and  unjust. 

One  of  the  warmest  admirers  and  ablest  com- 
mentators of  Baxter  designates  the  leading  and  pe- 
culiar trait  of  his  character  as  unearthliness.  In  our 
view,  this  was  its  radical  defect.  He  had  too  little 
of  humanity,  he  felt  too  little  of  the  attraction  of 


182  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

this  world,  and  lived  too  exclusively  in  the  spiritual 
and  the  unearthly,  for  a  full  and  healthful  develop- 
ment of  his  nature  as  a  man,  or  of  the  graces,  chari- 
ties, and  loves  of  the  Christian.  He  undervalued 
the  common  blessings  and  joys  of  life,  and  closed 
his  eyes  and  ears  against  the  beauty  and  harmony 
of  outward  nature.  Humanity,  in  itself  considered, 
seemed  of  small  moment  to  him  ;  "  passing  away  " 
was  written  alike  on  its  wrongs  and  its  rights,  its 
pleasures  and  its  pains  ;  death  would  soon  level  all 
distinctions  ;  and  the  sorrows  or  the  joys,  the  pov- 
erty or  the  riches,  the  slavery  or  the  liberty,  of  the 
brief  day  of  its  probation  seemed  of  too  little  con- 
sequence to  engage  his  attention  and  sympathies. 
Hence,  while  he  was  always  ready  to  minister  to 
temporal  suffering  wherever  it  came  to  his  notice, 
he  made  no  efforts  to  remove  its  political  or  social 
causes.  In  this  respect  he  differed  widely  from 
some  of  his  illustrious  contemporaries.  Penn,  while 
preaching  up  and  down  the  land,  and  writing  theo- 
logical folios  and  pamphlets,  could  yet  urge  the 
political  rights  of  Englishmen,  mount  the  hustings 
for  Algernon  Sydney,  and  plead  for  unlimited  re- 
ligious liberty ;  and  Vane,  while  dreaming  of  a  com- 
ing millennium  and  reign  of  the  saints,  and  busily 
occupied  in  defending  his  Antinoinian  doctrines, 
could  at  the  same  time  vindicate,  with  tongue  and 
pen,  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  freedom.  But 
Baxter  overlooked  the  evils  and  oppressions  which 
were  around  him,  and  forgot  the  necessities  and 
duties  of  the  world  of  time  and  sense  in  his  earnest 
aspirations  towards  the  world  of  spirits.  It  is  by 
no  means  an  uninstructive  fact,  that  with  the  lapse 
of  years  his  zeal  for  proselytism,  doctrinal  dispu- 


RICHARD  BAXTER  183 

tations,  and  the  preaching  of  threats  and  terrors 
visibly  declined,  while  love  for  his  fellow -men 
and  catholic  charity  greatly  increased,  and  he  was 
blessed  with  a  clearer  perception  of  the  truth  that 
God  is  best  served  through  His  suffering  children, 
and  that  love  and  reverence  for  visible  humanity 
is  an  indispensable  condition  of  the  appropriate 
worship  of  the  Unseen  God. 

But,  in  taking  leave  of  Richard  Baxter,  our  last 
words  must  not  be  those  of  censure.  Admiration 
and  reverence  become  us  rather.  He  was  an  honest 
man.  So  far  as  we  can  judge,  his  motives  were  the 
highest  and  best  which  can  influence  human  action. 
He  had  faults  and  weaknesses,  and  committed  grave 
errors,  but  we  are  constrained  to  believe  that  the 
prayer  with  which  he  closes  his  /Saints'  Rest  and 
which  we  have  chosen  as  the  fitting  termination  of 
our  article,  was  the  earnest  aspiration  of  his  life :  — 

"  O  merciful  Father  of  Spirits !  suffer  not  the 
soul  of  thy  unworthy  servant  to  be  a  stranger  to 
the  joys  which  he  describes  to  others,  but  keep  me 
while  I  remain  on  earth  in  daily  breathing  after 
thee,  and  in  a  believing  affectionate  walking  with 
thee  !  Let  those  who  shall  read  these  pages  not 
merely  read  the  fruits  of  my  studies,  but  the  breath- 
ing of  my  active  hope  and  love ;  that  if  my  heart 
were  open  to  their  view,  they  might  there  read  thy 
love  most  deeply  engraven  upon  it  with  a  beam 
from  the  face  of  the  Son  of  God ;  and  not  find  van- 
ity or  lust  or  pride  within  where  the  words  of  life 
appear  without,  that  so  these  lines  may  not  witness 
against  me,  but,  proceeding  from  the  heart  of  the 
writer,  be  effectual  through  thy  grace  upon  the  heart 
of  the  reader,  and  so  be  the  savor  of  life  to  both." 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT. 

"  0  Freedom !  thou  art  not,  as  poets  dream, 
A  fair  young  girl,  with  light  and  delicate  limbs, 
And  wavy  tresses,  gushing  from  the  cap 
With  which  the  Roman  master  crowned  his  slave, 
When  he  took  off  the  gyres.    A  bearded  man, 
Armed  to  the  teeth,  art  thou ;  one  mailed  hand 
Grasps  the  broad  shield,  and  one  the  sword ;  thy  brow, 
Glorious  in  beauty  though  it  be,  is  scarred 
With  tokens  of  old  wars ;  thy  massive  limbs 
Are  strong  with  struggling.     Power  at  thee  has  launched 
TTia  bolts,  and  with  his  lightnings  smitten  thee ; 
They  could  not  quench  the  life  thou  hast  from  Heaven." 

BBYANT. 

WHEN  the  noblest  woman  in  all  France  stood 
on  the  scaffold,  just  before  her  execution,  she  is 
said  to  have  turned  towards  the  statue  of  Liberty, 
—  which,  strangely  enough,  had  been  placed  near 
the  guillotine,  as  its  patron  saint,  —  with  the  ex- 
clamation, "  O  Liberty !  what  crimes  have  been 
committed  in  thy  name ! "  It  is  with  a  feeling 
akin  to  that  which  prompted  this  memorable  ex- 
clamation of  Madame  Roland  that  the  sincere  lover 
of  human  freedom  and  progress  is  often  compelled 
to  regard  American  democracy. 

For  democracy,  pure  and  impartial,  —  the  self- 
government  of  the  whole  ;  equal  rights  and  privi- 
leges, irrespective  of  birth  or  complexion ;  the 
morality  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ  applied  to  legis- 
lation ;  Christianity  reduced  to  practice,  and  show- 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  185 

ering  the  blessings  of  its  impartial  love  and  equal 
protection  upon  all,  like  the  rain  and  dews  of 
heaven,  —  we  have  the  sincerest  love  and  rever- 
ence. So  far  as  our  own  government  approaches 
this  standard  —  and,  with  all  its  faults,  we  believe 
it  does  so  more  nearly  than  any  other  —  it  has  our 
hearty  and  steadfast  allegiance.  We  complain  of 
and  protest  against  it  only  where,  in  its  original 
framework  or  actual  administration,  it  departs 
from  the  democratic  principle.  Holding,  with 
Novalis,  that  the  Christian  religion  is  the  root  of 
all  democracy  and  the  highest  fact  in  the  rights  of 
man,  we  regard  the  New  Testament  as  the  true 
political  text-book ;  and  believe  that,  just  in  pro- 
portion as  mankind  receive  its  doctrines  and  pre- 
cepts, not  merely  as  matters  of  faith  and  relating 
to  another  state  of  being,  but  as  practical  rules, 
designed  for  the  regulation  of  the  present  life  as 
well  as  the  future,  their  institutions,  social  arrange- 
ments, and  forms  of  government  will  approximate 
to  the  democratic  model.  We  believe  in  the  ulti- 
mate complete  accomplishment  of  the  mission  of 
Him  who  came  "  to  preach  deliverance  to  the  cap- 
tive, and  the  opening  of  prison  doors  to  them  that 
are  bound."  We  look  forward  to  the  universal 
dominion  of  His  benign  humanity;  and,  turning 
from  the  strife  and  blood,  the  slavery,  and  social 
and  political  wrongs  of  the  past  and  present,  anti- 
cipate the  realization  in  the  distant  future  of  that 
state  when  the  song  of  the  angels  at  His  advent 
shall  be  no  longer  a  prophecy,  but  the  jubilant  ex- 
pression of  a  glorious  reality,  —  "  Glory  to  God  in 
the  highest !  Peace  on  earth,  and  good  will  to 
man!" 


186  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

For  the  party  in  this  country  which  has  assumed 
the  name  of  Democracy,  as  a  party,  we  have  had, 
we  confess,  for  some  years  past,  very  little  respect. 
It  has  advocated  many  salutary  measures,  tending 
to  equalize  the  advantages  of  trade  and  remove 
the  evils  of  special  legislation.  But  if  it  has 
occasionally  lopped  some  of  the  branches  of  the 
evil  tree  of  oppression,  so  far  from  striking  at  its 
root,  it  has  suffered  itself  to  be  made  the  instru- 
ment of  nourishing  and  protecting  it.  It  has 
allowed  itself  to  be  called,  by  its  Southern  flat- 
terers, "  the  natural  ally  of  slavery."  It  has 
spurned  the  petitions  of  the  people  in  behalf  of 
freedom  under  its  feet,  in  Congress  and  State  leg- 
islatures. Nominally  the  advocate  of  universal 
suffrage,  it  has  wrested  from  the  colored  citizens 
of  Pennsylvania  that  right  of  citizenship  which 
they  had  enjoyed  under  a  Constitution  framed  by 
Franklin  and  Rush.  Perhaps  the  most  shameful 
exhibition  of  its  spirit  was  made  in  the  late  Rhode 
Island  struggle,  when  the  free  suffrage  conven- 
tion, solemnly  calling  heaven  and  earth  to  witness 
its  readiness  to  encounter  all  the  horrors  of  civil 
war,  in  defence  of  the  holy  principle  of  equal  and 
universal  suffrage,  deliberately  excluded  colored 
Rhode  Islanders  from  the  privilege  of  voting.  In 
the  Constitutional  Conventions  of  Michigan  and 
Iowa,  the  same  party  declared  all  men  equal,  and 
then  provided  an  exception  to  this  rule  in  the  case 
of  the  colored  inhabitants.  Its  course  on  the 
question  of  excluding  slavery  from  Texas  is  a  mat- 
ter of  history,  known  and  read  of  all. 

After  such  exhibitions  of  its  practice,  its  pro- 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  187 

fessions  have  lost  their  power.  The  cant  of  de- 
mocracy upon  the  lips  of  men  who  are  living  down 
its  principles  is,  to  an  earnest  mind,  wellnigh  in- 
sufferable. Pertinent  were  the  queries  of  Eliphaz 
the  Temanite,  "  Shall  a  man  utter  vain  knowledge, 
and  fill  his  belly  with  the  east  wind  ?  Shall  he 
reason  with  unprofitable  talk,  or  with  speeches 
wherewith  he  can  do  no  good  ? "  Enough  of 
wearisome  talk  we  have  had  about  "  progress,"  the 
rights  of  "  the  masses,"  the  "  dignity  of  labor," 
and  "  extending  the  area  of  freedom  "  !  "  Clear 
your  mind  of  cant,  sir,"  said  Johnson  to  Bos  well ; 
and  no  better  advice  could  be  now  given  to  a  class 
of  our  democratic  politicians.  Work  out  your 
democracy ;  translate  your  words  into  deeds  ;  away 
with  your  sentimental  generalizations,  and  come 
down  to  the  practical  details  of  your  duty  as  men 
and  Christians.  What  avail  your  abstract  theories, 
your  hopeless  virginity  of  democracy,  sacred  from 
the  violence  of  meanings  ?  A  democracy  which 
professes  to  hold,  as  by  divine  right,  the  doctrine 
of  human  equality  in  its  special  keeping,  and 
which  at  the  same  time  gives  its  direct  countenance 
and  support  to  the  vilest  system  of  oppression  on 
which  the  sun  of  heaven  looks,  has  no  better  title 
to  the  name  it  disgraces  than  the  apostate  Son  of 
the  Morning  has  to  his  old  place  in  heaven.  We 
are  using  strong  language,  for  we  feel  strongly  on 
this  subject.  Let  those  whose  hypocrisy  we  con- 
demn, and  whose  sins  against  humanity  we  expose, 
remember  that  they  are  the  publishers  of  their  own 
shame,  and  that  they  have  gloried  in  their  apos- 
tasy. There  is  a  cutting  severity  in  the  answer 


188          PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

which  Sophocles  puts  in  the  mouth  of  Electra,  in 
justification  of  her  indignant  rebuke  of  her  wicked 
mother :  — 

"  'T  is  you  that  say  it,  not  I  — 
You  do  the  unholy  deeds  which  find  me  words." 

Yet  in  that  party  calling  itself  democratic  we  re- 
joice to  recognize  true,  generous,  and  thoroughly 
sincere  men,  —  lovers  of  the  word  of  democracy, 
and  doers  of  it  also,  honest  and  hearty  in  their 
worship  of  liberty,  who  are  still  hoping  that  the 
antagonism  which  slavery  presents  to  democracy 
will  be  perceived  by  the  people,  in  spite  of  the 
sophistry  and  appeals  to  prejudice  by  which  inter- 
ested partisans  have  hitherto  succeeded  in  deceiv- 
ing them.  We  believe  with  such  that  the  mass  of 
the  democratic  voters  of  the  free  States  are  in  real- 
ity friends  of  freedom,  and  hate  slavery  in  all  its 
forms  ;  and  that,  with  a  full  understanding  of  the 
matter,  they  could  never  consent  to  be  sold  to 
presidential  aspirants,  by  political  speculators,  in 
lots  to  suit  purchasers,  and  warranted  to  be  useful 
in  putting  down  free  discussion,  perpetuating  op- 
pression, and  strengthening  the  hands  of  modern 
feudalism.  They  are  beginning  already  to  see 
that,  under  the  process  whereby  men  of  easy  virtue 
obtain  offices  from  the  general  government,  as  the 
reward  of  treachery  to  free  principles,  the  strength 
and  vitality  of  the  party  are  rapidly  declining. 
To  them,  at  least,  democracy  means  something 
more  than  collectorships,  consulates,  and  govern- 
mental contracts.  For  the  sake  of  securing  a  mo- 
nopoly of  these  to  a  few  selfish  and  heartless  party 
managers,  they  are  not  prepared  to  give  up  the  dis- 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  189 

tinctive  principles  of  democracy,  and  substitute  in 
their  place  the  doctrines  of  the  Satanic  school  of 
politics.  They  will  not  much  longer  consent  to 
stand  before  the  world  as  the  slavery  party  of  the 
United  States,  especially  when  policy  and  expedi- 
ency, as  well  as  principle,  unite  in  recommending 
a  position  more  congenial  to  the  purposes  of  their 
organization,  the  principles  of  the  fathers  of  their 
political  faith,  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  the  obliga- 
tions of  Christianity. 

The  death-blow  of  slavery  in  this  country  will  be 
given  by  the  very  power  upon  which  it  has  hitherto 
relied  with  so  much  confidence.  Abused  and  in- 
sulted Democracy  will,  erelong,  shake  off  the  loath- 
some burden  under  which  it  is  now  staggering.  In 
the  language  of  the  late  Theodore  Sedgwick,  of 
Massachusetts,  a  consistent  democrat  of  the  old 
school :  "  Slavery,  in  all  its  forms,  is  anti-demo- 
cratic, —  an  old  poison  left  in  the  veins,  fostering 
the  worst  principles  of  aristocracy,  pride,  and  aver- 
sion to  labor ;  the  natural  enemy  of  the  poor  man, 
the  laboring  man,  the  oppressed  man.  The  ques- 
tion is,  whether  absolute  dominion  over  any  crea- 
ture in  the  image  of  man  be  a  wholesome  power  in 
a  free  country ;  whether  this  is  a  school  in  which 
to  train  the  young  republican  mind  ;  whether  slave 
blood  and  free  blood  can  course  healthily  together 
in  the  same  body  politic.  Whatever  may  be  pres- 
ent appearances,  and  by  whatever  name  party  may 
choose  to  call  things,  this  question  must  finally  be 
settled  by  the  democracy  of  the  country." 

This  prediction  was  made  eight  years  ago,  at  a 
time  when  all  the  facts  in  the  case  seemed  against 


190  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  probability  of  its  truth,  and  when  only  here 
and  there  the  voice  of  an  indignant  freeman  pro- 
tested against  the  exulting  claims  of  the  slave 
power  upon  the  democracy  as  its  "  natural  ally." 
The  signs  of  the  times  now  warrant  the  hope  of  its 
fulfilment.  Over  the  hills  of  the  East,  and  over 
the  broad  territory  of  the  Empire  State,  a  new 
spirit  is  moving.  Democracy,  like  Balaam  upon 
Zophim,  has  felt  the  divine  afflatus,  and  is  bless- 
ing that  which  it  was  summoned  to  curse. 

The  present  hopeful  state  of  things  is  owing,  in 
no  slight  degree,  to  the  self-sacrificing  exertions  of 
a  few  faithful  and  clear-sighted  men,  foremost 
among  whom  was  the  late  William  Leggett ;  than 
whom  no  one  has  labored  more  perseveringly,  or, 
in  the  end,  more  successfully,  to  bring  the  practice 
of  American  democracy  into  conformity  with  its 
professions. 

William  Leggett !  Let  our  right  hand  forget  its 
cunning,  when  that  name  shall  fail  to  awaken  gen- 
erous emotions  and  aspirations  for  a  higher  and 
worthier  manhood !  True  man  and  true  demo- 
crat ;  faithful  always  to  Liberty,  following  wherever 
she  led,  whether  the  storm  beat  in  his  face  or  on 
his  back  ;  unhesitatingly  counting  her  enemies  his 
own,  whether  in  the  guise  of  Whig  monopoly  and 
selfish  expediency,  or  democratic  servility  north  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line  towards  democratic  slave- 
holding  south  of  it ;  poor,  yet  incorruptible ;  de- 
pendent upon  party  favor,  as  a  party  editor,  yet 
risking  all  in  condemnation  of  that  party,  when  in 
the  wrong ;  a  man  of  the  people,  yet  never  stoop- 
ing to  flatter  the  people's  prejudices,  —  he  is  the 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  191 

politician,  of  all  others,  whom  we  would  hold  up  to 
the  admiration  and  imitation  of  the  young  men  of 
our  country.  What  Fletcher  of  Saltoun  is  to  Scot- 
land, and  the  brave  spirits  of  the  old  Common- 
wealth time  — 

' '  Hands  that  penned 

And  tongues  that  uttered  wisdom,  better  none 
The  later  Sydney,  Marvell,  Harrington, 
Young  Vane,  and  others,  who  called  Milton  friend  "  — 

are  to  England,  should  Leggett  be  to  America. 
His  character  was  formed  on  these  sturdy  demo- 
cratic models.  Had  he  lived  in  their  day,  he  would 
have  scraped  with  old  Andrew  Marvell  the  bare 
blade-bone  of  poverty,  or  even  laid  his  head  on  the 
block  with  Vane,  rather  than  forego  his  indepen- 
dent thought  and  speech. 

Of  the  early  life  of  William  Leggett  we  have  no 
very  definite  knowledge.  Born  in  moderate  cir- 
cumstances ;  at  first  a  woodsman  in  the  Western 
wilderness,  then  a  midshipman  in  the  navy,  then 
a  denizen  of  New  York ;  exposed  to  sore  hardships 
and  perilous  temptations,  he  worked  his  way  by 
the  force  of  his  genius  to  the  honorable  position  of 
associate  editor  of  the  Evening  Post,  the  leading 
democratic  journal  of  our  great  commercial  me- 
tropolis. Here  he  became  early  distinguished  for 
his  ultraism  in  democracy.  His  whole  soul  re- 
volted against  oppression.  He  was  for  liberty 
everywhere  and  in  all  things,  in  thought,  in  speech, 
in  vote,  in  religion,  in  government,  and  in  trade ; 
he  was  for  throwing  off  all  restraints  upon  the 
right  of  suffrage  ;  regarding  all  men  as  brethren, 
he  looked  with  disapprobation  upon  attempts  to 


192  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

exclude  foreigners  from  the  rights  of  citizenship  ; 
he  was  for  entire  freedom  of  commerce;* he  de- 
nounced a  national  bank  ;  he  took  the  lead  in  op- 
position to  the  monopoly  of  incorporated  banks ; 
he  argued  in  favor  of  direct  taxation,  and  advo- 
cated a  free  post-office,  or  a  system  by  which  let- 
ters should  be  transported,  as  goods  and  passen- 
gers now  are,  by  private  enterprise.  In  all  this  he 
was  thoroughly  in  earnest.  That  he  often  erred 
through  passion  and  prejudice  cannot  be  doubted ; 
but  in  no  instance  was  he  found  turning  aside  from 
the  path  which  he  believed  to  be  the  true  one,  from 
merely  selfish  considerations.  He  was  honest  alike 
to  himself  and  the  pudlic.  Every  question  which 
was  thrown  up  before  him  by  the  waves  of  politi- 
cal or  moral  agitation  he  measured  by  his  stan- 
dard of  right  and  truth,  and  condemned  or  advo- 
cated it  in  utter  disregard  of  prevailing  opinions, 
of  its  effect  upon  his  pecuniary  interest,  or  of  his 
standing  with  his  party.  The  vehemence  of  his 
passions  sometimes  betrayed  him  into  violence  of 
language  and  injustice  to  his  opponents ;  but  he 
had  that  rare  and  manly  trait  which  enables  its 
possessor,  whenever  he  becomes  convinced  of  error, 
to  make  a  prompt  acknowledgment  of  the  convic- 
tion. 

In  the  summer  of  1834,  a  series  of  mobs,  directed 
against  the  Abolitionists,  who  had  organized  a 
national  society,  with  the  city  of  New  York  as  its 
central  point,  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succes- 
sion. The  houses  of  the  leading  men  in  the  society 
were  sacked  and  pillaged ;  meeting-houses  broken 
into  and  defaced;  and  the  unoffending  colored 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  193 

inhabitants  of  the  city  treated  with  the  grossest 
indignity,  and  subjected,  in  some  instances,  to 
shameful  personal  outrage.  It  was  emphatically 
a  "  Reign  of  Terror."  The  press  of  both  political 
parties  and  of  the  leading  religious  sects,  by  appeals 
to  prejudice  and  passion,  and  by  studied  misrepre- 
sentation of  the  designs  and  measures  of  the  Abo- 
litionists, fanned  the  flame  of  excitement,  until  the 
fury  of  demons  possessed  the  misguided  populace. 
To  advocate  emancipation,  or  defend  those  who  did 
so,  in  New  York,  at  that  period,  was  like  preach- 
ing democracy  in  Constantinople  or  religious  toler- 
ation in  Paris  on  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew.  Law 
was  prostrated  in  the  dust ;  to  be  suspected  of 
abolitionism  was  to  incur  a  liability  to  an  indefinite 
degree  of  insult  and  indignity  ;  and  the  few  and 
hunted  friends  of  the  slave  who  in  those  nights  of 
terror  laid  their  heads  upon  the  pillow  did  so  with 
the  prayer  of  the  Psalmist  on  their  lips,  "  Defend 
me  from  them  that  rise  up  against  me ;  save  me 
from  bloody  men." 

At  this  period  the  New  York  Evening  Post  spoke 
out  strongly  in  condemnation  of  the  mob.  William 
Leggett  was  not  then  an  Abolitionist ;  he  had  known 
nothing  of  the  proscribed  class,  save  through  the 
cruel  misrepresentations  of  their  enemies ;  but,  true 
to  his  democratic  faith,  he  maintained  the  right  to 
discuss  the  question  of  slavery.  The  infection  of 
cowardly  fear,  which  at  that  time  sealed  the  lips 
of  multitudes  who  deplored  the  excesses  of  the  mob 
and  sympathized  with  its  victims,  never  reached 
him.  Boldly,  indignantly,  he  demanded  that  the 
mob  should  be  put  down  at  once  by  the  civil 


194          PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

authorities.  He  declared  the  Abolitionists,  even  if 
guilty  of  all  that  had  been  charged  upon  them,  fully 
entitled  to  the  privileges  and  immunities  of  Amer- 
ican citizens.  He  sternly  reprimanded  the  board 
of  aldermen  of  the  city  for  rejecting  with  contempt 
the  memorial  of  the  Abolitionists  to  that  body, 
explanatory  of  their  principles  and  the  measures 
by  which  they  had  sought  to  disseminate  them. 
Referring  to  the  determination,  expressed  by  the 
memorialists  in  the  rejected  document,  not  to  recant 
or  relinquish  any  principle  which  they  had  adopted, 
but  to  live  and  die  by  their  faith,  he  said :  "  In 
this,  however  mistaken,  however  mad,  we  may  con- 
sider their  opinions  in  relation  to  the  blacks,  what 
honest,  independent  mind  can  blame  them?  Where 
is  the  man  so  poor  of  soul,  so  white-livered,  so  base, 
that  he  would  do  less  in  relation  to  any  important 
doctrine  in  which  he  religiously  believed  ?  Where 
is  the  man  who  would  have  his  tenets  drubbed  into 
him  by  the  clubs  of  ruffians,  or  hold  his  conscience 
at  the  dictation  of  a  mob  ?  " 

In  the  summer  of  1835,  a  mob  of  excited  citi- 
zens broke  open  the  post-office  at  Charleston,  South 
Carolina,  and  burnt  in  the  street  such  papers  and 
pamphlets  as  they  judged  to  be  "  incendiary ; "  in 
other  words,  such  as  advocated  the  application  of 
the  democratic  principle  to  the  condition  of  the 
slaves  of  the  South.  These  papers  were  addressed, 
not  to  the  slave,  but  to  the  master.  They  con- 
tained nothing  which  had  not  been  said  and  written 
by  Southern  men  themselves,  the  Pinkneys,  Jeffer- 
sons,  Henrys,  and  Martins,  of  Maryland  and  Vir- 
ginia. The  example  set  at  Charleston  did  not 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  195 

lack  imitators.  Every  petty  postmaster  south  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line  became  ex  qfficio  a  censor 
of  the  press.  The  Postmaster-General,  writing  to 
his  subordinate  at  Charleston,  after  stating  that 
the  post-office  department  had  "  no  legal  right  to 
exclude  newspapers  from  the  mail,  or  prohibit  their 
carriage  or  delivery,  on  account  of  their  character 
or  tendency,  real  or  supposed,"  declared  that  he 
would,  nevertheless,  give  no  aid,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, in  circulating  publications  of  an  incendiary 
or  inflammatory  character ;  and  assured  the  per- 
jured functionary,  who  had  violated  his  oath  of 
office,  that,  while  he  could  not  sanction,  he  would 
not  condemn  his  conduct.  Against  this  virtual 
encouragement  of  a  flagrant  infringement  of  a  con- 
stitutional right,  this  licensing  of  thousands  of  petty 
government  officials  to  sit  in  their  mail  offices  —  to 
use  the  figure  of  Milton  —  cross-legged,  like  so  many 
envious  Junos,  in  judgment  upon  the  daily  offspring 
of  the  press,  taking  counsel  of  passion,  prejudice, 
and  popular  excitement  as  to  what  was  "  incen- 
diary "  or  "  inflammatory,"  the  Evening  Post  spoke 
in  tones  of  manly  protest. 

While  almost  all  the  editors  of  his  party  through- 
out the  country  either  openly  approved  of  the  con- 
duct of  the  Postmaster-General  or  silently  acqui- 
esced in  it,  William  Leggett,  who,  in  the  absence 
of  his  colleague,  was  at  that  time  sole  editor  of  the 
JPost,  and  who  had  everything  to  lose,  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  by  assailing  a  leading  functionary  of 
the  government,  who  was  a  favorite  of  the  Presi- 
dent and  a  sharer  of  his  popularity,  did  not  hesi- 
tate as  to  the  course  which  consistency  and  duty 


196  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

required  at  his  hands.  He  took  his  stand  for  un- 
popular truth,  at  a  time  when  a  different  course  on 
his  part  could  not  have  failed  to  secure  him  the 
favor  and  patronage  of  his  party.  In  the  great 
struggle  with  the  Bank  of  the  United  States,  his 
services  had  not  been  unappreciated  by  the  Presi- 
dent and  his  friends.  Without  directly  approving 
the  course  of  the  administration  on  the  question 
of  the  rights  of  the  Abolitionists,  by  remaining 
silent  in  respect  to  it,  he  might  have  avoided  all 
suspicion  of  mental  and  moral  independence  in- 
compatible with  party  allegiance.  The  imprac- 
ticable honesty  of  Leggett,  never  bending  from 
the  erectness  of  truth  for  the  sake  of  that  "  thrift 
which  follows  fawning,"  dictated  a  most  severe 
and  scorching  review  of  the  letter  of  the  Post- 
master-General. "  More  monstrous,  more  detesta- 
ble doctrines  we  have  never  heard  promulgated," 
he  exclaimed  in  one  of  his  leading  editorials. 
"  With  what  face,  after  this,  can  the  Postmaster- 
General  punish  a  postmaster  for  any  exercise  of 
the  fearfully  dangerous  power  of  stopping  and 
destroying  any  portion  of  the  mails  ? "  "  The 
Abolitionists  do  not  deserve  to  be  placed  on  the 
same  footing  with  a  foreign  enemy,  nor  their  pub- 
lications as  the  secret  despatches  of  a  spy.  They 
are  American  citizens,  in  the  exercise  of  their 
undoubted  right  of  citizenship ;  and  however  erro- 
neous their  views,  however  fanatic  their  conduct, 
while  they  act  within  the  limits  of  the  law,  what 
official  functionary,  be  he  merely  a  subordinate  or 
the  head  of  the  post-office  department,  shall  dare  to 
abridge  them  of  their  rights  as  citizens,  and  deny 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  197 

them  those  facilities  of  intercourse  which  were 
instituted  for  the  equal  accommodation  of  all  ?  If 
the  American  people  will  submit  to  this,  let  us 
expunge  all  written  codes,  and  resolve  society  into 
its  original  elements,  where  the  might  of  the  strong 
is  better  than  the  right  of  the  weak." 

A  few  days  after  the  publication  of  this  manly 
rebuke,  he  wrote  an  indignantly  sarcastic  article 
upon  the  mobs  which  were  at  this  time  everywhere 
summoned  to  "  put  down  the  Abolitionists."  The 
next  day,  the  4th  of  the  ninth  month,  1835,  he 
received  a  copy  of  the  Address  of  the  American 
Anti-Slavery  Society  to  the  public,  containing  a 
full  and  explicit  avowal  of  all  the  principles  and 
designs  of  the  association.  He  gave  it  a  candid 
perusal,  weighed  its  arguments,  compared  its  doc- 
trines with  those  at  the  foundation  of  his  own 
political  faith,  and  rose  up  from  its  examination  an 
Abolitionist.  He  saw  that  he  himself,  misled  by 
the  popular  clamor,  had  done  injustice  to  benevo- 
lent and  self-sacrificing  men;  and  he  took  the 
earliest  occasion,  in  an  article  of  great  power  and 
eloquence,  to  make  the  amplest  atonement.  He 
declared  his  entire  concurrence  with  the  views  of 
the  American  Anti-Slavery  Society,  with  the  single 
exception  of  a  doubt  which  rested  011  his  mind  as 
to  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  District  of  Colum- 
bia. We  quote  from  the  concluding  paragraph  of 
this  article :  — 

"  We  assert  without  hesitation,  that,  if  we  pos- 
sessed the  right,  we  should  not  scruple  to  exercise 
it  for  the  speedy  annihilation  of  servitude  and 
chains.  The  impression  made  in  boyhood  by  the 
glorious  exclamation  of  Cato, 


198  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"  '  A  day,  an  hour,  of  virtuous  liberty 
Is  worth  a  whole  eternity  of  bondage  !  ' 

has  been  worn  deeper,  not  effaced,  by  time ;  and 
we  eagerly  and  ardently  trust  that  the  day  will  yet 
arrive  when  the  clank  of  the  bondman's  fetters  will 
form  no  part  of  the  multitudinous  sounds  which  our 
country  sends  up  to  Heaven,  mingling,  as  it  were, 
into  a  song  of  praise  for  our  national  prosperity. 
We  yearn  with  strong  desire  for  the  day  when  free- 
dom shall  no  longer  wave 

"  '  Her  fustian  flag  in  mockery  over  slaves.'  " 

A  few  days  after,  in  reply  to  the  assaults  made 
upon  him  from  all  quarters,  he  calmly  and  firmly 
reiterated  his  determination  to  maintain  the  right 
of  free  discussion  of  the  subject  of  slavery. 

"  The  course  we  are  pursuing,"  said  he,  "  is  one 
which  we  entered  upon  after  mature  deliberation, 
and  we  are  not  to  be  turned  from  it  by  a  species 
of  opposition,  the  inefficacy  of  which  we  have  seen 
displayed  in  so  many  former  instances.  It  is  Philip 
Van  Artevelde  who  says  :  — 

"'All  my  life  long, 

I  have  beheld  with  most  respect  the  man 
Who  knew  himself,  and  knew  the  ways  before  him ; 
And  from  among  them  chose  considerately, 
With  a  clear  foresight,  not  a  blindfold  courage ; 
And,  having  chosen,  with  a  steadfast  mind 
Pursued  his  purpose.' 

"  This  is  the  sort  of  character  we  emulate.  If 
to  believe  slavery  a  deplorable  evil  and  curse,  in 
whatever  light  it  is  viewed ;  if  to  yearn  for  the  day 
which  shall  break  the  fetters  of  three  millions  of 
human  beings,  and  restore  to  them  their  birthright 
of  equal  freedom ;  if  to  be  willing,  in  season  and 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  199 

out  of  season,  to  do  all  in  our  power  to  promote  so 
desirable  a  result,  by  all  means  not  inconsistent  with 
higher  duty :  if  these  sentiments  constitute  us  Aboli- 
tionists, then  are  we  such,  and  glory  in  the  name." 
"  The  senseless  cry  of  '  Abolitionist '  shall  never 
deter  us,  nor  the  more  senseless  attempt  of  puny 
prints  to  read  us  out  of  the  democratic  party.  The 
often-quoted  and  beautiful  saying  of  the  Latin  his- 
torian, Homo  sum :  humani  nihil  a  me  alienumputo-) 
we  apply  to  the  poor  slave  as  well  as  his  master, 
and  shall  endeavor  to  fulfil  towards  both  the  obli- 
gations of  an  equal  humanity." 

The  generation  which,  since  the  period  of  which 
we  are  speaking,  have  risen  into  active  life  can 
have  but  a  faint  conception  of  the  boldness  of  this 
movement  on  the  part  of  William  Leggett.  To  be 
an  Abolitionist  then  was  to  abandon  all  hope  of 
political  preferment  or  party  favor  ;  to  be  marked 
and  branded  as  a  social  outlaw,  under  good  so- 
ciety's interdict  of  food  and  fire  ;  to  hold  property, 
liberty,  and  life  itself  at  the  mercy  of  lawless  mobs. 
All  this  William  Leggett  clearly  saw.  He  knew 
how  rugged  and  thorny  was  the  path  upon  which, 
impelled  by  his  love  of  truth  and  the  obligations 
of  humanity,  he  was  entering.  From  hunted  and 
proscribed  Abolitionists  and  oppressed  and  spirit- 
broken  colored  men,  the  Pariahs  of  American  de- 
mocracy, he  could  alone  expect  sympathy.  The 
Whig  journals,  with  a  few  honorable  exceptions, 
exulted  over  what  they  regarded  as  the  fall  of  a 
formidable  opponent ;  and  after  painting  his  abo- 
litionism in  the  most  hideous  colors,  held  him  up  to 
their  Southern  allies  as  a  specimen  of  the  radical 


200  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

disorganizes  and  democratic  levellers  of  the  North. 
His  own  party,  in  consequence,  made  haste  to  pro- 
scribe him.  Government  advertising  was  promptly 
withdrawn  from  his  paper.  The  official  journals 
of  Washington  and  Albany  read  him  out  of  the 
pale  of  democracy.  Father  Ritchie  scolded  and 
threatened.  The  democratic  committee  issued  its 
bull  against  him  from  Tammany  Hall.  The  reso- 
lutions of  that  committee  were  laid  before  him 
when  he  was  sinking  under  a  severe  illness.  Ral- 
lying his  energies,  he  dictated  from  his  sick-bed 
an  answer  marked  by  all  his  accustomed  vigor  and 
boldness.  Its  tone  was  calm,  manly,  self -relying  ; 
the  language  of  one  who,  having  planted  his  feet 
hard  down  on  the  rock  of  principle,  stood  there 
like  Luther  at  Worms,  because  he  "could  not 
otherwise."  Exhausted  nature  sunk  under  the 
effort.  A  weary  sickness  of  nearly  a  year's  dura- 
tion followed.  In  this  sore  affliction,  deserted  as 
he  was  by  most  of  his  old  political  friends,  we  have 
reason  to  know  that  he  was  cheered  by  the  grati- 
tude of  those  in  whose  behalf  he  had  wellnigh 
made  a  martyr's  sacrifice  ;  and  that  from  the  hum- 
ble hearths  of  his  poor  colored  fellow-citizens  fer- 
vent prayers  went  up  for  his  restoration. 

His  work  was  not  yet  done.  Purified  by  trial, 
he  was  to  stand  forth  once  more  in  vindication  of 
the  truths  of  freedom.  As  soon  as  his  health  was 
sufficiently  reestablished,  he  commenced  the  pub- 
lication of  an  independent  political  and  literary 
journal,  under  the  expressive  title  of  The  Plain- 
dealer.  In  his  first  number  he  stated,  that,  claim- 
ing the  right  of  absolute  freedom  of  discussion, 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  201 

lie  should  exercise  it  with  no  other  limitations  than 
those  of  his  own  judgment.  A  poor  man,  he  ad- 
mitted that  he  established  the  paper  in  the  ex- 
pectation of  deriving  from  it  a  livelihood,  but  that 
even  for  that  object  he  could  not  trim  its  sails  to 
suit  the  varying  breeze  of  popular  prejudice.  "  If," 
said  he,  "  a  paper  which  makes  the  Right,  and  not 
the  Expedient,  its  cardinal  object,  will  not  yield  its 
conductor  a  support,  there  are  honest  vocations 
that  will,  and  better  the  humblest  of  them  than  to 
be  seated  at  the  head  of  an  influential  press,  if  its 
influence  is  not  exerted  to  promote  the  cause  of 
truth."  He  was  true  to  his  promise.  The  free 
soul  of  a  free,  strong  man  spoke  out  in  his  paper. 
How  refreshing  was  it,  after  listening  to  the 
inanities,  the  dull,  witless  vulgarity,  the  wearisome 
commonplace  of  journalists,  who  had  no  higher 
aim  than  to  echo,  with  parrot-like  exactness,  cur- 
rent prejudices  and  falsehoods,  to  turn  to  the  great 
and  generous  thoughts,  the  chaste  and  vigorous 
diction,  of  the  Plaindealer  I  No  man  ever  had  a 
clearer  idea  of  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  a 
conductor  of  the  public  press  than  William  Leg- 
gett,  and  few  have  ever  combined  so  many  of  the 
qualifications  for  their  perfect  discharge  :  a  nice 
sense  of  justice,  a  warm  benevolence,  inflexible 
truth,  honesty  defying  temptation,  a  mind  stored 
with  learning,  and  having  at  command  the  treas- 
ures of  the  best  thoughts  of  the  best  authors.  As 
was  said  of  Fletcher  of  Saltoun,  he  was  "  a  gentle- 
man steady  in  his  principles  ;  of  nice  honor,  abun- 
dance of  learning  ;  bold  as  a  lion ;  a  sure  friend ; 
a  man  who  would  lose  his  life  to  serve  his  country, 


202  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

and  would  not  do  a  base  thing  to  save  it."  He 
had  his  faults :  his  positive  convictions  sometimes 
took  the  shape  of  a  proud  and  obstinate  dogma- 
tism ;  he  who  could  so  well  appeal  to  the  judgment 
and  the  reason  of  his  readers  too  often  only  roused 
their  passions  by  invective  and  vehement  declama- 
tion. Moderate  men  were  startled  and  pained  by 
the  fierce  energy  of  his  language  ;  and  he  not  un- 
frequently  made  implacable  enemies  of  opponents 
whom  he  might  have  conciliated  and  won  over  by 
mild  expostulation  and  patient  explanation.  It 
must  be  urged  in  extenuation,  that,  as  the  champion 
of  unpopular  truths,  he  was  assailed  unfairly  on  all 
sides,  and  indecently  misrepresented  and  calumni- 
ated to  a  degree,  as  his  friend  Sedgwick  justly 
remarks,  unprecedented  even  in  the  annals  of  the 
American  press ;  and  that  his  errors  in  this  respect 
were,  in  the  main,  errors  of  retaliation. 

In  the  Plaindealer,  in  common  with  the  leading 
moral  and  political  subjects  of  the  day,  that  of 
slavery  was  freely  discussed  in  all  its  bearings.  It 
is  difficult,  in  a  single  extract,  to  convey  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  character  of  the  editorial  columns 
of  a  paper,  where  terse  and  concentrated  irony  and 
sarcasm  alternate  with  eloquent  appeal  and  diffuse 
commentary  and  labored  argument.  We  can  only 
offer  at  random  the  following  passages  from  a  long 
review  of  a  speech  of  John  C.  Calhoun,  in  which 
that  extraordinary  man,  whose  giant  intellect  has 
been  shut  out  of  its  appropriate  field  of  exercise 
by  the  very  slavery  of  which  he  is  the  champion, 
undertook  to  maintain,  in  reply  to  a  Virginia  sen- 
ator, that  chattel  slavery  was  not  an  evil,  but  "  a 
great  good." 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  203 

"  We  have  Mr.  Calhoun's  own  warrant  for  at- 
tacking his  position  with  all  the  fervor  which  a 
high  sense  of  duty  can  give,  for  we  do  hold,  from 
the  bottom  of  our  soul,  that  slavery  is  an  evil,  — 
a  deep,  detestable,  damnable  evil ;  evil  in  all  its 
aspects  to  the  blacks,  and  a  greater  evil  to  the 
whites;  an  evil  moral,  social,  and  political;  an 
evil  which  shows  itself  in  the  languishing  condition 
of  agriculture  where  it  exists,  in  paralyzed  com- 
merce, and  in  the  prostration  of  the  mechanic  arts  ; 
an  evil  which  stares  you  in  the  face  from  unculti- 
vated fields,  and  howls  in  your  ears  through  tangled 
swamps  and  morasses.  Slavery  is  such  an  evil 
that  it  withers  what  it  touches.  Where  it  is  once 
securely  established  the  land  becomes  desolate,  as 
the  tree  inevitably  perishes  which  the  sea-hawk 
chooses  for  its  nest ;  while  freedom,  on  the  con- 
trary, flourishes  like  the  tannen,  '  on  the  loftiest 
and  least  sheltered  rocks,'  and  clothes  with  its  re- 
freshing verdure  what,  without  it,  would  frown  in 
naked  and  incurable  sterility. 

"  If  any  one  desires  an  illustration  of  the  oppo- 
site influences  of  slavery  and  freedom,  let  him  look 
at  the  two  sister  States  of  Kentucky  and  Ohio. 
Alike  in  soil  and  climate,  and  divided  only  by  a 
river,  whose  translucent  waters  reveal,  through 
nearly  the  whole  breadth,  the  sandy  bottom  over 
which  they  sparkle,  how  different  are  they  in  all 
the  respects  over  which  man  has  control !  On  the 
one  hand  the  air  is  vocal  with  the  mingled  tumult 
of  a  vast  and  prosperous  population.  Every  hill- 
side smiles  with  an  abundant  harvest,  every  valley 
shelters  a  thriving  village,  the  click  of  a  busy  mill 


204          PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

drowns  the  prattle  of  every  rivulet,  and  all  the 
multitudinous  sounds  of  business  denote  happy 
activity  in  every  branch  of  social  occupation. 

"  This  is  the  State  which,  but  a  few  years  ago, 
slept  in  the  unbroken  solitude  of  nature.  The 
forest  spread  an  interminable  canopy  of  shade  over 
the  dark  soil  on  which  the  fat  and  useless  vegeta- 
tion rotted  at  ease,  and  through  the  dusky  vistas 
of  the  wood  only  savage  beasts  and  more  savage 
men  prowled  in  quest  of  prey.  The  whole  land 
now  blossoms  like  a  garden.  The  tall  and  inter- 
lacing trees  have  unlocked  their  hold,  and  bowed 
before  the  woodman's  axe.  The  soil  is  disencum- 
bered of  the  mossy  trunks  which  had  reposed  upon 
it  for  ages.  The  rivers  flash  in  the  sunlight,  and 
the  fields  smile  with  waving  harvests.  This  is 
Ohio,  and  this  is  what  freedom  has  done  for  it. 

"  Now,  let  us  turn  to  Kentucky,  and  note  the 
opposite  influences  of  slavery.  A  narrow  and  un- 
frequented path  through  the  close  and  sultry  cane- 
brake  conducts  us  to  a  wretched  hovel.  It  stands 
in  the  midst  of  an  unweeded  field,  whose  dilapidated 
enclosure  scarcely  protects  it  from  the  lowing  and 
hungry  kine.  Children  half  clad  and  squalid,  and 
destitute  of  the  buoyancy  natural  to  their  age, 
lounge  in  the  sunshine,  while  their  parent  saun- 
ters apart,  to  watch  his  languid  slaves  drive  the 
ill-appointed  team  afield.  This  is  not  a  fancy  pic- 
ture. It  is  a  true  copy  of  one  of  the  features 
which  make  up  the  aspect  of  the  State,  and  of 
every  State  where  the  moral  leprosy  of  slavery 
covers  the  people  with  its  noisome  scales  ;  a  dead- 
ening lethargy  benumbs  the  limbs  of  the  body 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  205 

politic  ;  a  stupor  settles  on  the  arts  of  life  ;  agri- 
culture reluctantly  drags  the  plough  and  harrow  to 
the  field,  only  when  scourged  by  necessity;  the 
axe  drops  from  the  woodman's  nerveless  hand  the 
moment  his  fire  is  scantily  supplied  with  fuel ;  and 
the  fen,  undrained,  sends  up  its  noxious  exhala- 
tions, to  rack  with  cramps  and  agues  the  frame 
already  too  much  enervated  by  a  moral  epidemic 
to  creep  beyond  the  sphere  of  the  material  rniasm." 
The  Plaindealer  was  uniformly  conducted  with 
eminent  ability  ;  but  its  editor  was  too  far  in  ad- 
vance of  his  contemporaries  to  find  general  accept- 
ance, or  even  toleration.  In  addition  to  pecuniary 
embarrassments,  his  health  once  more  failed,  and 
in  the  autumn  of  1837  he  was  compelled  to  sus- 
pend the  publication  of  his  paper.  One  of  the 
last  articles  which  he  wrote  for  it  shows  the  extent 
to  which  he  was  sometimes  carried  by  the  intensity 
and  depth  of  his  abhorrence  of  oppression,  and  the 
fervency  of  his  adoration  of  liberty.  Speaking  of 
the  liability  of  being  called  upon  to  aid  the  master 
in  the  subjection  of  revolted  slaves,  and  in  repla- 
cing their  cast-off  fetters,  he  thus  expresses  him- 
self :  "  Would  we  comply  with  such  a  requisition  ? 
No  !  Rather  would  we  see  our  right  arm  lopped 
from  our  body,  and  the  mutilated  trunk  itself 
gored  with  mortal  wounds,  than  raise  a  finger  in 
opposition  to  men  struggling  in  the  holy  cause  of 
freedom.  The  obligations  of  citizenship  are  strong, 
but  those  of  justice,  humanity,  and  religion, 
stronger.  We  earnestly  trust  that  the  great  con- 
test of  opinion  which  is  now  going  on  in  this  coun- 
try may  terminate  in  the  enfranchisement  of  the 


206  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

slaves,  without  recourse  to  the  strife  of  blood ;  but 
should  the  oppressed  bondmen,  impatient  of  the 
tardy  progress  of  truth,  urged  only  in  discussion, 
attempt  to  burst  their  chains  by  a  more  violent  and 
shorter  process,  they  should  never  encounter  our 
arm  nor  hear  our  voice  in  the  ranks  of  their  oppo- 
nents. We  should  stand  a  sad  spectator  of  the  con- 
flict ;  and,  whatever  commiseration  we  might  feel 
for  the  discomfiture  of  the  oppressors,  we  should 
pray  that  the  battle  might  end  in  giving  freedom 
to  the  oppressed." 

With  the  Plaindealer,  his  connection  with  the 
public,  in  a  great  measure,  ceased.  His  steady 
and  intimate  friend,  personal  as  well  as  political, 
Theodore  Sedgwick,  Jun.,  a  gentleman  who  has, 
on  many  occasions,  proved  himself  worthy  of  his 
liberty-loving  ancestry,  thus  speaks  of  him  in  his 
private  life  at  this  period  :  "  Amid  the  reverses  of 
fortune,  harassed  by  pecuniary  embarrassments, 
during  the  tortures  of  a  disease  which  tore  away 
his  life  piecemeal,  he  ever  maintained  the  same 
manly  and  unaltered  front,  the  same  cheerfulness 
of  disposition,  the  same  dignity  of  conduct.  No 
humiliating  solicitation,  no  weak  complaint,  es- 
caped him."  At  the  election  in  the  fall  of  1838, 
the  noble-spirited  democrat  was  not  wholly  for- 
gotten. A  strenuous  effort,  which  was  wellnigh 
successful,  was  made  to  secure  his  nomination  as  a 
candidate  for  Congress.  It  was  at  this  juncture 
that  he  wrote  to  a  friend  in  the  city,  from  his  resi- 
dence at  New  Rochelle,  one  of  the  noblest  letters 
ever  penned  by  a  candidate  for  popular  favor. 
The  following  extracts  will  show  how  a  true  man 
can  meet  the  temptations  of  political  life  :  — 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  207 

"  What  I  am  most  afraid  of  is,  that  some  of  my 
friends,  in  their  too  earnest  zeal,  will  place  me  in 
a  false  position  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  I  am  an 
Abolitionist.  I  hate  slavery  in  all  its  forms,  de- 
grees, and  influences ;  and  I  deem  myself  bound, 
by  the  highest  moral  and  political  obligations,  not 
to  let  that  sentiment  of  hate  lie  dormant  and  smoul- 
dering in  my  own  breast,  but  to  give  it  free  vent, 
and  let  it  blaze  forth,  that  it  may  kindle  equal  ar- 
dor through  the  whole  sphere  of  my  influence.  I 
would  not  have  this  fact  disguised  or  mystified 
for  any  oflice  the  people  have  it  in  their  power  to 
give.  Rather,  a  thousand  times  rather,  would  I 
again  meet  the  denunciations  of  Tammany  Hall, 
and  be  stigmatized  with  all  the  foul  epithets  with 
which  the  anti-abolition  vocabulary  abounds,  than 
recall  or  deny  one  tittle  of  my  creed.  Abolition  is, 
in  my  sense,  a  necessary  and  a  glorious  part  of 
democracy  ;  and  I  hold  the  right  and  duty  to  dis- 
cuss the  subject  of  slavery,  and  to  expose  its  hide- 
ous evils  in  all  their  bearings,  —  moral,  social,  and 
political,  —  as  of  infinitely  higher  importance  than 
to  carry  fifty  sub-treasury  bills.  That  I  should 
discharge  this  duty  temperately ;  that  I  should  not 
let  it  come  in  collision  with  other  duties ;  that  I 
should  not  let  my  hatred  of  slavery  transcend  the 
express  obligations  of  the  Constitution,  or  violate 
its  clear  spirit,  I  hope  and  trust  you  think  suffi- 
ciently well  of  me  to  believe.  But  what  I  fear  is, 
(not  from  you,  however,)  that  some  of  my  advo- 
cates and  champions  will  seek  to  recommend  me 
to  popular  support  by  representing  me  as  not  an 
Abolitionist,  which  is  false.  All  that  I  have  writ- 


208  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

ten  gives  the  lie  to  it.  All  I  shall  write  will  give 
the  lie  to  it. 

"  And  here,  let  me  add,  (apart  from  any  con- 
sideration already  adverted  to,)  that,  as  a  matter 
of  mere  policy,  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  have  my 
name  disjoined  from  abolitionism.  To  be  an  Abo- 
litionist now  is  to  be  an  incendiary ;  as,  three  years 
ago,  to  be  an  anti-monopolist  was  to  be  a  leveller 
and  a  Jack  Cade.  See  what  three  short  years  have 
done  in  effecting  the  anti-monopoly  reform ;  and 
depend  upon  it  that  the  next  three  years,  or,  if 
not  three,  say  three  times  three,  if  you  please,  will 
work  a  greater  revolution  on  the  slavery  question. 
The  stream  of  public  opinion  now  sets  against  us ; 
but  it  is  about  to  turn,  and  the  regurgitation  will 
be  tremendous.  Proud  in  that  day  may  well  be 
the  man  who  can  float  in  triumph  on  the  first  ref- 
luent wave,  swept  onward  by  the  deluge  which 
he  himself,  in  advance  of  his  fellows,  has  largely 
shared  in  occasioning.  Such  be  my  fate ;  and, 
living  or  dead,  it  will,  in  some  measure,  be  mine  ! 
I  have  written  my  name  in  ineffaceable  letters  on 
the  abolition  record ;  and  whether  the  reward  ul- 
timately come  in  the  shape  of  honors  to  the  living 
man,  or  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  a  departed 
one,  I  would  not  forfeit  my  right  to  it  for  as  many 

offices  as has  in  his  gift,  if  each  of  them  was 

greater  than  his  own." 

After  mentioning  that  he  had  understood  that 
some  of  his  friends  had  endeavored  to  propitiate 
popular  prejudice  by  representing  him  as  no  Abo- 
litionist, he  says : — 

"  Keep  them,  for  God's  sake,  from  committing 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  209 

any  such  fooleries  for  the  sake  of  getting  me  into 
Congress.  Let  others  twist  themselves  into  what 
shapes  they  please,  to  gratify  the  present  taste  of 
the  people ;  as  for  me,  I  am  not  formed  of  such 
pliant  materials,  and  choose  to  retain,  undisturbed, 
the  image  of  my  God !  I  do  not  wish  to  cheat  the 
people  of  their  votes.  I  would  not  get  their  sup- 
port, any  more  than  their  money,  under  false  pre- 
tences. I  am  what  I  am;  and  if  that  does  not 
suit  them,  I  am  content  to  stay  at  home." 

God  be  praised  for  affording  us,  even  in  these 
latter  days,  the  sight  of  an  honest  man  !  Amidst 
the  heartlessness,  the  double-dealing,  the  evasions, 
the  prevarications,  the  shameful  treachery  and 
falsehood,  of  political  men  of  both  parties,  in  re- 
spect to  the  question  of  slavery,  how  refreshing  is 
it  to  listen  to  words  like  these !  They  renew  our 
failing  faith  in  human  nature.  They  reprove  our 
weak  misgivings.  We  rise  up  from  their  perusal 
stronger  and  healthier.  With  something  of  the 
spirit  which  dictated  them,  we  renew  our  vows  to 
freedom,  and,  with  manlier  energy,  gird  up  our 
souls  for  the  stern  struggle  before  us. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  and  as  he  him- 
self predicted,  the  efforts  of  his  friends  to  procure 
his  nomination  failed ;  but  the  same  generous  ap- 
preciators  of  his  rare  worth  were  soon  after  more 
successful  in  their  exertions  in  his  behalf.  He  re- 
ceived from  President  Van  Buren  the  appointment 
of  the  mission  to  Guatemala,  —  an  appointment 
which,  in  addition  to  honorable  employment  in  the 
service  of  his  country,  promised  him  the  advan- 
tages of  a  sea  voyage  and  a  change  of  climate,  for 


210  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  restoration  of  his  health.  The  course  of  Martin 
Van  Buren  on  the  subject  of  slavery  in  the  Dis- 
trict of  Columbia  forms,  in  the  estimation  of  many 
of  his  best  friends,  by  no  means  the  most  creditable 
portion  of  his  political  history  ;  but  it  certainly  ar- 
gues well  for  his  magnanimity  and  freedom  from 
merely  personal  resentment  that  he  gave  this  ap- 
pointment to  the  man  who  had  animadverted  upon 
that  course  with  the  greatest  freedom,  and  whose 
rebuke  of  the  veto  pledge,  severe  in  its  truth  and 
justice,  formed  the  only  discord  in  the  pjean  of 
partisan  flattery  which  greeted  his  inaugural. 
But,  however  well  intended,  it  came  too  late.  In 
the  midst  of  the  congratulations  of  his  friends  on 
the  brightening  prospect  before  him,  the  still  hope- 
ful and  vigorous  spirit  of  William  Leggett  was 
summoned  away  by  death.  Universal  regret  was 
awakened.  Admiration  of  his  intellectual  power, 
and  that  generous  and  full  appreciation  of  his  high 
moral  worth  which  had  been  in  too  many  instances 
withheld  from  the  living  man  by  party  policy  and 
prejudice,  were  now  freely  accorded  to  the  dead. 
The  presses  of  both  political  parties  vied  with  each 
other  in  expressions  of  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  a  great 
and  true  man.  The  Democracy,  through  all  its 
organs,  hastened  to  canonize  him  as  one  of  the 
saints  of  its  calendar.  The  general  committee,  in 
New  York,  expunged  their  resolutions  of  censure. 
The  Democratic  Review,  at  that  period  the  most 
respectable  mouthpiece  of  the  democratic  party, 
made  him  the  subject  of  exalted  eulogy.  His 
early  friend  and  co-editor,  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
laid  upon  his  grave  the  following  tribute,  alike 
beautiful  and  true  :  — 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  211 

"  The  earth  may  ring,  from  shore  to  shore, 

With  echoes  of  a  glorious  name, 
But  he  whose  loss  our  tears  deplore 
Has  left  behind  him  more  than  fame. 

"  For  when  the  death-frost  came  to  lie 

On  Leggett's  warm  and  mighty  heart, 
And  quenched  his  bold  and  friendly  eye, 
His  spirit  did  not  all  depart. 

"  The  words  of  fire  that  from  his  pen 

He  flung  upon  the  lucid  page 
Still  move,  still  shake  the  hearts  of  men, 
Amid  a  cold  and  coward  age. 

"  His  love  of  Truth,  too  warm,  too  strong, 

For  Hope  or  Fear  to  chain  or  chill, 
His  hate  of  tyranny  and  wrong, 

Burn  in  the  breasts  they  kindled  still." 

So  lived  and  died  William  Leggett.  What  a 
rebuke  of  party  perfidy,  of  political  meanness,  of 
the  common  arts  and  stratagems  of  demagogues, 
comes  up  from  his  grave!  How  the  cheek  of 
mercenary  selfishness  crimsons  at  the  thought  of 
his  incorruptible  integrity !  How  heartless  and 
hollow  pretenders,  who  offer  lip  service  to  freedom, 
while  they  give  their  hands  to  whatever  work  their 
slaveholding  managers  may  assign  them ;  who  sit 
in  chains  round  the  crib  of  governmental  patron- 
age, putting  on  the  spaniel,  and  putting  off  the 
man,  and  making  their  whole  lives  a  miserable  lie, 
shrink  back  from  a  contrast  with  the  proud  and 
austere  dignity  of  his  character !  What  a  comment 
on  their  own  condition  is  the  memory  of  a  man  who 
could  calmly  endure  the  loss  of  party  favor,  the  re- 
proaches of  his  friends,  the  malignant  assaults  of 
his  enemies,  and  the  fretting  evils  of  poverty,  in 


212  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  hope  of  bequeathing,  like  the  dying  testator  of 
Ford, 

"  A  fame  by  scandal  untouched, 
To  Memory  and  Time's  old  daughter,  Truth." 

The  praises  which  such  men  are  now  constrained 
to  bestow  upon  him  are  their  own  condemnation. 
Every  stone  which  they  pile  upon  his  grave  is 
written  over  with  the  record  of  their  hypocrisy. 

We  have  written  rather  for  the  living  than  the 
dead.  As  one  of  that  proscribed  and  hunted  band 
of  Abolitionists,  whose  rights  were  so  bravely  de- 
fended by  William  Leggett,  we  should,  indeed,  be 
wanting  in  ordinary  gratitude  not  to  do  honor  to 
his  memory;  but  we  have  been  actuated  at  the 
present  time  mainly  by  a  hope  that  the  character, 
the  lineaments  of  which  we  have  so  imperfectly 
sketched,  may  awaken  a  generous  emulation  in  the 
hearts  of  the  young  democracy  of  our  country. 
Democracy  such  as  William  Leggett  believed  and 
practised,  democracy  in  its  full  and  all-comprehen- 
sive significance,  is  destined  to  be  the  settled  politi- 
cal faith  of  this  republic.  Because  the  despotism 
of  slavery  has  usurped  its  name,  and  offered  the 
strange  incense  of  human  tears  and  blood  on  its 
profaned  altars,  shall  we,  therefore,  abandon  the 
only  political  faith  which  coincides  with  the  Gos- 
pel of  Jesus,  and  meets  the  aspirations  and  wants 
of  humanity  ?  No.  The  duty  of  the  present  gen- 
eration in  the  United  States  is  to  reduce  this  faith 
to  practice,  to  make  the  beautiful  ideal  a  fact. 

"  Every  American,"  says  Leggett,  "  who  in  any 
way  countenances  slavery  is  derelict  to  his  duty, 
as  a  Christian,  a  patriot,  a  man ;  and  every  one 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  213 

does  countenance  and  authorize  it  who  suffers  any 
opportunity  of  expressing  his  deep  abhorrence  of 
its  manifold  abominations  to  pass  unimproved." 
The  whole  world  has  an  interest  in  this  matter. 
The  influence  of  our  democratic  despotism  is  ex- 
erted against  the  liberties  of  Europe.  Political 
reformers  in  the  Old  World,  who  have  testified  to 
their  love  of  freedom  by  serious  sacrifices,  hold  but 
one  language  on  this  point.  They  tell  us  that 
American  slavery  furnishes  kings  and  aristocracies 
with  their  most  potent  arguments  ;  that  it  is  a  per- 
petual drag  on  the  wheel  of  political  progress. 

We  have  before  us,  at  this  time,  a  letter  from 
Seidensticker,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  patriotic 
movement  in  behalf  of  German  liberty  in  1831.  It 
was  written  from  the  prison  of  Celle,  where  he  had 
been  confined  for  eight  years.  The  writer  expresses 
his  indignant  astonishment  at  the  speeches  of  John 
C.  Calhoun,  and  others  in  Congress,  on  the  slavery 
question,  and  deplores  the  disastrous  influence  of 
our  great  inconsistency  upon  the  cause  of  freedom 
throughout  the  world,  —  an  influence  which  para- 
lyzes the  hands  of  the  patriotic  reformer,  while  it 
strengthens  those  of  his  oppressor,  and  deepens 
around  the  living  martyrs  and  confessors  of  Euro- 
pean democracy  the  cold  shadow  of  their  prisons. 

Joseph  Sturge,  of  Birmingham,  the  President  of 
the  British  Free  Suffrage  Union,  and  whose  philan- 
thropy and  democracy  have  been  vouched  for  by 
the  Democratic  Review  in  this  country,  has  the  fol- 
lowing passage  in  an  address  to  the  citizens  of  the 
United  States  :  "  Although  an  admirer  of  the  insti- 
tutions of  your  country,  and  deeply  lamenting  the 


214  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

evils  of  my  own  government,  I  find  it  difficult  to 
reply  to  those  who  are  opposed  to  any  extension 
of  the  political  rights  of  Englishmen,  when  they 
point  to  America,  and  say  that  where  all  have  a 
control  over  the  legislation  but  those  who  are  guilty 
of  a  dark  skin,  slavery  and  the  slavetrade  remain, 
not  only  unmitigated,  but  continue  to  extend  ;  and 
that  while  there  is  an  onward  movement  in  favor 
of  its  extinction,  not  only  in  England  and  France, 
but  in  Cuba  and  Brazil,  American  legislators  cling 
to  this  enormous  evil,  without  attempting  to  relax 
or  mitigate  its  horrors." 

How  long  shall  such  appeals,  from  such  sources, 
be  wasted  upon  us  ?  Shall  our  baleful  example 
enslave  the  world  ?  Shall  the  tree  of  democracy, 
which  our  fathers  intended  for  "  the  healing  of  the 
nations,"  be  to  them  like  the  fabled  upas,  blight- 
ing all  around  it  ? 

The  men  of  the  North,  the  pioneers  of  the  free 
West,  and  the  non-slaveholders  of  the  South  must 
answer  these  questions.  It  is  for  them  to  say 
whether  the  present  wellnigh  intolerable  evil  shall 
continue  to  increase  its  boundaries,  and  strengthen 
its  hold  upon  the  government,  the  political  parties, 
and  the  religious  sects  of  our  country.  Interest 
and  honor,  present  possession  and  future  hope,  the 
memory  of  fathers,  the  prospects  of  children,  grati- 
tude, affection,  the  still  call  of  the  dead,  the  cry  of 
oppressed  nations  looking  hitherward  for  the  result 
of  all  their  hopes,  the  voice  of  God  in  the  soul,  in 
revelation,  and  in  His  providence,  all  appeal  to 
them  for  a  speedy  and  righteous  decision.  At 
this  moment,  on  the  floor  of  Congress,  Democracy 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT  215 

and  Slavery  have  met  in  a  death-grapple.  The 
South  stands  firm ;  it  allows  no  party  division  on 
the  slave  question.  One  of  its  members  has  de- 
clared that  "the  slave  States  have  no  traitors." 
Can  the  same  be  said  of  the  free  ?  Now,  as  in  the 
time  of  the  fatal  Missouri  Compromise,  there  are, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  political  pedlers  among  our 
representatives,  whose  souls  are  in  the  market, 
and  whose  consciences  are  vendible  commodities. 
Through  their  means,  the  slave  power  may  gain  a 
temporary  triumph ;  but  may  not  the  very  base- 
ness of  the  treachery  arouse  the  Northern  heart  ? 
By  driving  the  free  States  to  the  wall,  may  it  not 
compel  them  to  turn  and  take  an  aggressive  atti- 
tude, clasp  hands  over  the  altar  of  their  common 
freedom,  and  swear  eternal  hostility  to  slavery  ? 

Be  the  issue  of  the  present  contest  what  it  may, 
those  who  are  faithful  to  freedom  should  allow  no 
temporary  reverse  to  shake  their  confidence  in  the 
ultimate  triumph  of  the  right.  The  slave  will  be 
free.  Democracy  in  America  will  yet  be  a  glori- 
ous reality  ;  and  when  the  topstone  of  that  temple 
of  freedom  which  our  fathers  left  unfinished  shall 
be  brought  forth  with  shoutings  and  cries  of  grace 
unto  it,  when  our  now  drooping  Liberty  lifts  up 
her  head  and  prospers,  happy  will  he  be  who  can 
say,  with  John  Milton,  "  Among  those  who  have 
something  more  than  wished  her  welfare,  I  too 
have  my  charter  and  freehold  of  rejoicing  to  me 
and  my  heirs." 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  EOGERS. 

"  And  Lamb,  the  frolic  and  the  gentle, 
Has  vanished  from  his  kindly  hearth." 

So,  in  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  pathetic  of 
his  poems  touching  the  loss  of  his  literary  friends, 
sang  Wordsworth.  We  well  remember  with  what 
freshness  and  vividness  these  simple  lines  came  be- 
fore us,  on  hearing,  last  autumn,  of  the  death  of 
the  warm-hearted  and  gifted  friend  whose  name 
heads  this  article ;  for  there  was  much  in  his  char- 
acter and  genius  to  remind  us  of  the  gentle  author 
of  Elia.  He  had  the  latter's  genial  humor  and 
quaintness ;  his  nice  and  delicate  perception  of  the 
beautiful  and  poetic ;  his  happy,  easy  diction,  not 
the  result,  as  in  the  case  of  that  of  the  English 
essayist,  of  slow  and  careful  elaboration,  but  the 
natural,  spontaneous  language  in  which  his  con- 
ceptions at  once  embodied  themselves,  apparently 
without  any  consciousness  of  effort.  As  Mark 
Antony  talked,  he  wrote,  "  right  on,"  telling  his 
readers  often  what  "  they  themselves  did  know," 
yet  imparting  to  the  simplest  commonplaces  of  life 
interest  and  significance,  and  throwing  a  golden 
haze  of  poetry  over  the  rough  and  thorny  pathways 
of  every-day  duty.  Like  Lamb,  he  loved  his  friends 
without  stint  or  limit.  The  "  old  familiar  faces  " 
haunted  him.  Lamb  loved  the  streets  and  lanes 
of  London  —  the  places  where  he  of tenest  came  in 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS       217 

contact  with  the  warm,  genial  heart  of  humanity  — 
better  than  the  country.  Rogers  loved  the  wild 
and  lonely  hills  and  valleys  of  New  Hampshire 
none  the  less  that  he  was  fully  alive  to  the  enjoy- 
ments of  society,  and  could  enter  with  the  heartiest 
sympathy  into  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  his 
friends  and  neighbors. 

In  another  point  of  view,  he  was  not  unlike  Elia. 
He  had  the  same  love  of  home,  and  home  friends, 
and  familiar  objects  ;  the  same  fondness  for  com- 
mon sights  and  sounds ;  the  same  dread  of  change ; 
the  same  shrinking  from  the  unknown  and  the 
dark.  Like  him,  he  clung  with  a  child's  love  to 
the  living  present,  and  recoiled  from  a  contempla- 
tion of  the  great  change  which  awaits  us.  Like 
him,  he  was  content  with  the  goodly  green  earth 
and  human  countenances,  and  would  fain  set  up 
his  tabernacle  here.  He  had  less  of  what  might 
be  termed  self-indulgence  in  this  feeling  than 
Lamb.  He  had  higher  views  ;  he  loved  this  world 
not  only  for  its  own  sake,  but  for  the  opportunities 
it  afforded  of  doing  good.  Like  the  Persian  seer, 
he  beheld  the  legions  of  Ormuzd  and  Ahriman,  of 
Light  and  Darkness,  contending  for  mastery  over 
the  earth,  as  the  sunshine  and  shadow  of  a  gusty, 
half-cloudy  day  struggled  on  the  green  slopes  of 
his  native  mountains ;  and,  mingled  with  the 
bright  host,  he  would  fain  have  fought  on  until  its 
banners  waved  in  eternal  sunshine  over  the  last 
hiding-place  of  darkness.  He  entered  into  the 
work  of  reform  with  the  enthusiasm  and  chivalry 
of  a  knight  of  the  crusades.  He  had  faith  in  hu- 
man progress, —  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the 


218  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

good ;  millennial  lights  beaconed  up  all  along  his 
horizon.  In  the  philanthropic  movements  of  the 
day  ;  in  the  efforts  to  remove  the  evils  of  slavery, 
war,  intemperance,  and  sanguinary  laws;  in  the 
humane  and  generous  spirit  of  much  of  our  modern 
poetry  and  literature ;  in  the  growing  demand  of 
the  religious  community,  of  all  sects,  for  the  preach- 
ing of  the  gospel  of  love  and  humanity,  he  heard 
the  low  and  tremulous  prelude  of  the  great  anthem 
of  universal  harmony.  "The  world,"  said  he,  in 
a  notice  of  the  music  of  the  Hutchinson  family, 
"  is  out  of  tune  now.  But  it  will  be  tuned  again, 
and  all  will  become  harmony."  In  this  faith  he 
lived  and  acted  ;  working,  not  always,  as  it  seemed 
to  some  of  his  friends,  wisely,  but  bravely,  truth- 
fully, earnestly,  cheering  on  his  fellow-laborers, 
and  imparting  to  the  dullest  and  most  earthward 
looking  of  them  something  of  his  own  zeal  and 
loftiness  of  purpose. 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  does  the  reader  ask  ?  Natu- 
rally enough,  too,  for  his  name  has  never  found 
its  way  into  fashionable  reviews ;  it  has  never  been 
associated  with  tale,  or  essay,  or  poem,  to  our 
knowledge.  Our  friend  Griswold,  who,  like  an- 
other Noah,  has  launched  some  hundreds  of  Amer- 
ican "  poets "  and  prose  writers  on  the  tide  of 
immortality  in  his  two  huge  arks  of  rhyme  and 
reason,  has  either  overlooked  his  name,  or  deemed 
it  unworthy  of  preservation.  Then,  too,  he  was 
known  mainly  as  the  editor  of  a  proscribed  and 
everywhere-spoken-against  anti-slavery  paper.  It 
had  few  readers  of  literary  taste  and  discrimina- 
tion ;  plain,  earnest  men  and  women,  intent  only 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS        219 

upon  the  thought  itself,  and  caring  little  for  the 
clothing  of  it,  loved  the  Herald  of  Freedom  for  its 
honestness  and  earnestness,  and  its  bold  rebukes 
of  the  wrong,  its  all-surrendering  homage  to  what 
its  editor  believed  to  be  right.  But  the  literary 
world  of  authors  and  critics  saw  and  heard  little 
or  nothing  of  him  or  his  writings.  "  I  once  had 
a  bit  of  scholar-craft,"  he  says  of  himself  on  one 
occasion,  "  and  had  I  attempted  it  in  some  pitiful 
sectarian  or  party  or  literary  sheet,  I  should  have 
stood  a  chance  to  get  quoted  into  the  periodicals. 
Now,  who  dares  quote  from  the  Herald  of  Free- 
dom ?  "  He  wrote  for  humanity,  as  his  biographer 
justly  says,  not  for  fame.  "  He  wrote  because  he 
had  something  to  say,  and  true  to  nature,  for  to 
him  nature  was  truth ;  he  spoke  right  on,  with  the 
artlessness  and  simplicity  of  a  child." 

He  was  born  in  Plymouth,  New  Hampshire,  in 
the  sixth  month  of  1794,  —  a  lineal  descendant 
from  John  Rogers,  of  martyr-memory.  Educated 
at  Dartmouth  College,  he  studied  law  with  Hon. 
Richard  Fletcher,  of  Salisbury,  New  Hampshire, 
now  of  Boston,  and  commenced  the  practice  of  it 
in  1819,  in  his  native  village.  He  was  diligent 
and  successful  in  his  profession,  although  seldom 
known  as  a  pleader.  About  the  year  1833,  he  be- 
came interested  in  the  anti-slavery  movement.  His 
was  one  of  the  few  voices  of  encouragement  and 
sympathy  which  greeted  the  author  of  this  sketch 
on  the  publication  of  a  pamphlet  in  favor  of  imme- 
diate emancipation.  He  gave  us  a  kind  word  of 
approval,  and  invited  us  to  his  mountain  home,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Pemigewasset,  —  an  invitation 


220  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

which,  two  years  afterwards,  we  accepted.  In  the 
early  autumn,  in  company  with  George  Thompson, 
(the  eloquent  reformer,  who  has  since  been  elected 
a  member  of  the  British  Parliament  from  the 
Tower  Hamlets,)  we  drove  up  the  beautiful  valley 
of  the  White  Mountain  tributary  of  the  Merri- 
mac,  and,  just  as  a  glorious  sunset  was  steeping 
river,  valley,  and  mountain  in  its  hues  of  heaven, 
were  welcomed  to  the  pleasant  home  and  family 
circle  of  our  friend  Rogers.  We  spent  two  de- 
lightful evenings  with  him.  His  cordiality,  his 
warm-hearted  sympathy  in  our  object,  his  keen  wit, 
inimitable  humor,  and  childlike  and  simple  mirth- 
fulness,  his  full  appreciation  of  the  beautiful  in  art 
and  nature,  impressed  us  with  the  conviction  that 
we  were  the  guests  of  no  ordinary  man  ;  that  we 
were  communing  with  unmistakable  genius,  such 
an  one  as  miglht  have  added  to  the  wit  and  elo- 
quence of  Ben  Jonson's  famous  club  at  the  Mer- 
maid, or  that  which  Lamb  and  Coleridge  and 
Southey  frequented  at  the  Salutation  and  Cat,  of 
Smithfield.  "  The  most  brilliant  man  I  have  met 
in  America !  "  said  George  Thompson,  as  we  left 
the  hospitable  door  of  our  friend. 

In  1838,  he  gave  up  his  law  practice,  left  his 
fine  outlook  at  Plymouth  upon  the  mountains  of 
the  North,  Moosehillock  and  the  Haystacks,  and 
took  up  his  residence  at  Concord,  for  the  purpose 
of  editing  the  Herald  of  Freedom,  an  anti-slav- 
ery paper  which  had  been  started  some  three  or 
four  years  before.  John  Pierpont,  than  whom 
there  could  not  be  a  more  competent  witness,  in 
his  brief  and  beautiful  sketch  of  the  life  and  writ- 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS        221 

ings  of  Eogers,  does  not  overestimate  the  ability 
with  which  the  Herald  was  conducted,  when  he 
says  of  its  editor :  "  As  a  newspaper  writer,  we 
think  him  unequalled  by  any  living  man ;  and  in 
the  general  strength,  clearness,  and  quickness  of 
his  intellect,  we  think  all  who  knew  him  well  will 
agree  with  us  that  he  was  not  excelled  by  any 
editor  in  the  country."  He  was  not  a  profound 
reasoner:  his  imagination  and  brilliant  fancy 
played  the  wildest  tricks  with  his  logic  ;  yet,  con- 
sidering the  way  by  which  he  reached  them,  it  is 
remarkable  that  his  conclusions  were  so  often  cor- 
rect. The  tendency  of  his  mind  was  to  extremes. 
A  zealous  Calvinistic  church-member,  he  became 
an  equally  zealous  opponent  of  churches  and  priests  ; 
a  warm  politician,  he  became  an  ultra  non-resistant 
and  no-government  man.  In  all  this,  his  sincerity 
was  manifest.  If,  in  the  indulgence  of  his  remark- 
able powers  of  sarcasm,  in  the  free  antics  of  a 
humorous  fancy,  upon  whose  graceful  neck  he  had 
flung  loose  the  reins,  he  sometimes  did  injustice  to 
individuals,  and  touched,  in  irreverent  sport,  the 
hem  of  sacred  garments,  it  had  the  excuse,  at  least, 
of  a  generous  and  honest  motive.  If  he  some- 
times exaggerated,  those  who  best  knew  him  can 
testify  that  he  "  set  down  naught  in  malice." 

We  have  before  us  a  printed  collection  of  his 
writings,  —  hasty  editorials,  flung  off  without  care 
or  revision,  the  offspring  of  sudden  impulse  fre- 
quently ;  always  free,  artless,  unstudied ;  the  lan- 
guage transparent  as  air,  exactly  expressing  the 
thought.  He  loved  the  common,  simple  dialect 
of  the  people,  —  the  "  beautiful  strong  old  Saxon, 


222  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

—  the  talk  words."  He  had  an  especial  dislike 
of  learned  and  "  dictionary  words."  He  used  to 
recommend  Cobbett's  Works  to  "  every  young 
man  and  woman  who  has  been  hurt  in  his  or  her 
talk  and  writing  by  going  to  school." 

Our  limits  will  not  admit  of  such  extracts  from 
the  Collection  of  his  writings  as  would  convey  to 
our  readers  an  adequate  idea  of  his  thought  and 
manner.  His  descriptions  of  natural  scenery  glow 
with  life.  One  can  almost  see  the  sunset  light 
flooding  the  Franconia  Notch,  and  glorifying  the 
peaks  of  Moosehillock,  and  hear  the  murmur  of 
the  west  wind  in  the  pines,  and  the  light,  liquid 
voice  of  Pemigewasset  sounding  up  from  its  rocky 
channel,  through  its  green  hem  of  maples,  while 
reading  them.  We  give  a  brief  extract  from  an 
editorial  account  of  an  autumnal  trip  to  Vermont : 

"  We  have  recently  journeyed  through  a  portion 
of  thisjfree  State ;  and  it  is  not  all  imagination  in 
us  that  sees,  in  its  bold  scenery,  its  uninfected 
inland  position,  its  mountainous  but  fertile  and 
verdant  surface,  the  secret  of  the  noble  predisposi- 
tion of  its  people.  They  are  located  for  freedom. 
Liberty's  home  is  on  their  Green  Mountains. 
Their  farmer  republic  nowhere  touches  the  ocean, 
the  highway  of  the  world's  crimes,  as  well  as  its 
nations.  It  has  no  seaport  for  the  importation  of 
slavery,  or  the  exportation  of  its  own  highland 
republicanism.  Should  slavery  ever  prevail  over 
this  nation,  to  its  utter  subjugation,  the  last  linger- 
ing footsteps  of  retiring  Liberty  will  be  seen,  not, 
as  Daniel  Webster  said,  in  the  proud  old  Common- 
wealth of  Massachusetts,  about  Bunker  Hill  and 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS   223 

Faneuil  Hall ;  but  she  will  be  found  wailing,  like 
Jephthah's  daughter,  among  the  '  hollows  '  and 
along  the  sides  of  the  Green  Mountains. 

"  Vermont  shows  gloriously  at  this  autumn  sea- 
son. Frost  has  gently  laid  hands  on  her  exuberant 
vegetation,  tinging  her  rock-maple  woods  without 
abating  the  deep  verdure  of  her  herbage.  Every- 
where along  her  peopled  hollows  and  her  bold  hill- 
slopes  and  summits  the  earth  is  alive  with  green, 
while  her  endless  hard-wood  forests  are  uniformed 
with  all  the  hues  of  early  fall,  richer  than  the  regi- 
mentals of  the  kings  that  glittered  in  the  train  of 
Napoleon  on  the  confines  of  Poland,  when  he  lin- 
gered there,  on  the  last  outposts  of  summer,  before 
plunging  into  the  snow-drifts  of  the  North ;  more 
gorgeous  than  the  array  of  Saladin's  life-guard  in 
the  wars  of  the  Crusaders,  or  of  '  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory,'  decked  in  all  colors  and  hues,  but  still 
the  hues  of  life.  Vegetation  touched,  but  not  dead, 
or,  if  killed,  not  bereft  yet  of  'signs  of  life.' 
'  Decay's  effacing  fingers '  had  not  yet  '  swept  the 
hills '  '  where  beauty  lingers.'  All  looked  fresh  as 
growing  foliage.  Vermont  frosts  don't  seem  to  be 
'  killing  frosts.'  They  only  change  aspects  of  beauty. 
The  mountain  pastures,  verdant  to  the  peaks,  and 
over  the  peaks  of  the  high,  steep  hills,  were  covered 
with  the  amplest  feed,  and  clothed  with  countless 
sheep ;  the  hay-fields  heavy  with  second  crop,  in 
some  partly  cut  and  abandoned,  as  if  in  very  wea- 
riness and  satiety,  blooming  with  honeysuckle,  con- 
trasting strangely  with  the  colors  on  the  woods ; 
the  fat  cattle  and  the  long-tailed  colts  and  close- 
built  Morgans  wallowing  in  it  up  to  the  eyes,  or  the 


224  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

cattle  down  to  rest,  with  full  bellies,  by  ten  in  the 
morning.  Fine  but  narrow  roads  wound  along 
among  the  hills,  free  almost  entirely  of  stone,  and 
so  smooth  as  to  be  safe  for  the  most  rapid  driv- 
ing, made  of  their  rich,  dark,  powder-looking  soil. 
Beautiful  villages  or  scattered  settlements  breaking 
upon  the  delighted  view,  on  the  meandering  way, 
making  the  ride  a  continued  scene  of  excitement 
and  admiration.  The  air  fresh,  free,  and  whole- 
some; the  road  almost  dead  level  for  miles  and 
miles,  among  mountains  that  lay  over  the  land 
like  the  great  swells  of  the  sea,  and  looking  in  the 
prospect  as  though  there  could  be  no  passage." 

To  this  autumnal  limning,  the  following  spring 
picture  may  be  a  fitting  accompaniment :  — 

"  At  last  Spring  is  here  in  full  flush.  Winter 
held  on  tenaciously  and  mercilessly,  but  it  has  let 
go.  The  great  sun  is  high  on  his  northern  jour- 
ney, and  the  vegetation,  and  the  bird-singing,  and 
the  loud  frog-chorus,  the  tree  budding  and  blow- 
ing, are  all  upon  us ;  and  the  glorious  grass  — 
superbest  of  earth's  garniture  —  with  its  ever-satis- 
fying green.  The  king-birds  have  come,  and  the 
corn-planter,  the  scolding  bob-o-link.  '  Plant  your 
corn,  plant  your  corn,'  says  he,  as  he  scurries 
athwart  the  ploughed  ground,  hardly  lifting  his 
crank  wings  to  a  level  with  his  back,  so  self-impor- 
tant is  he  in  his  admonitions.  The  earlier  birds 
have  gone  to  housekeeping,  and  have  disappeared 
from  the  spray.  There  has  been  brief  period  for 
them,  this  spring,  for  scarcely  has  the  deep  snow 
gone,  but  the  dark-green  grass  has  come,  and  first 
we  shall  know,  the  ground  will  be  yellow  with 
dandelions. 


NATHANIEL   PEABODY  ROGERS        225 

"  I  incline  to  thank  Heaven  this  glorious  morn- 
ing of  May  16th  for  the  pleasant  home  from  which 
we  can  greet  the  Spring.  Hitherto  we  have  had  to 
await  it  amid  a  thicket  of  village  houses,  low  down, 
close  together,  and  awfully  white.  For  a  prospect, 
we  had  the  hinder  part  of  an  ugly  meeting-house, 
which  an  enterprising  neighbor  relieved  us  of  by 
planting  a  dwelling-house,  right  before  our  eyes, 
(on  his  own  land,  and  he  had  a  right  to,)  which  re- 
lieved us  also  of  all  prospect  whatever.  And  the 
revival  spirit  of  habitation  which  has  come  over 
Concord  is  clapping  up  a  house  between  every 
two  in  the  already  crowded  town ;  and  the  pros- 
pect is,  it  will  be  soon  all  buildings.  They  are 
constructing,  in  quite  good  taste  though,  small, 
trim,  cottage-like.  But  I  had  rather  be  where  I 
can  breathe  air,  and  see  beyond  my  own  features, 
than  be  smothered  among  the  prettiest  houses  ever 
built.  We  are  on  the  slope  of  a  hill ;  it  is  all 
sand,  be  sure,  on  all  four  sides  of  us,  but  the  air  is 
free,  (and  the  sand,  too,  at  times,)  and  our  water, — 
there  is  danger  of  hard  drinking  to  live  by  it.  Air 
and  water,  the  two  necessaries  of  life,  and  high, 
free  play-ground  for  the  small  ones.  There  is  a 
sand  precipice  hard  by,  high  enough,  were  it  only 
rock  and  overlooked  the  ocean,  to  be  as  sublime  as 
any  of  the  Nahant  cliffs.  As  it  is,  it  is  altogether 
a  safer  haunt  for  daring  childhood,  which  could 
hardly  break  its  neck  by  a  descent  of  some  hun- 
dreds of  feet. 

"  A  low  flat  lies  between  us  and  the  town,  with 
its  State-house,  and  body-guard  of  well-propor- 
tioned steeples  standing  round.  It  was  marshy 


PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

and  wet,  but  is  almost  all  redeemed  by  the  trans- 
lation into  it  of  the  high  hills  of  sand.  It  must 
have  been  a  terrible  place  for  frogs,  judging  from 
what  remains  of  it.  Bits  of  water  from  the  springs 
hard  by  lay  here  and  there  about  the  low  ground, 
which  are  peopled  as  full  of  singers  as  ever  the 
gallery  of  the  old  North  Meeting-house  was,  and 
quite  as  melodious  ones.  Such  performers  I  never 
heard,  in  marsh  or  pool.  They  are  not  the  great, 
stagnant,  bull-paddocks,  fat  and  coarse-noted  like 

Parson ,  but  clear-water  frogs,  green,  lively, 

and  sweet-voiced.  I  passed  their  orchestra  going 
home  the  other  evening,  with  a  small  lad,  and  they 
were  at  it,  all  parts,  ten  thousand  peeps,  shrill, 
ear-piercing,  and  incessant,  coming  up  from  every 
quarter,  accompanied  by  a  second,  from  some 
larger  swimmer  with  his  trombone,  and  broken  in 
upon,  every  now  and  then,  but  not  discordantly, 
with  the  loud,  quick  hallo,  that  resembles  the  cry 
of  the  tree-toad.  '  There  are  the  Hutchinsons,' 
cried  the  lad.  '  The  Rainers,'  responded  I,  glad 
to  remember  enough  of  my  ancient  Latin  to  know 
that  Rana,  or  some  such  sounding  word,  stood  for 
frog.  But  it  was  a  '  band  of  music,'  as  the  Mil- 
ler friends  say.  Like  other  singers,  (all  but  the 
Hutchinsons,)  these  are  apt  to  sing  too  much,  all 
the  time  they  are  awake,  constituting  really  too 
much  of  a  good  thing.  I  have  wondered  if  the 
little  reptiles  were  singing  in  concert,  or  whether 
every  one  peeped  on  his  own  hook,  their  neighbor- 
hood only  making  it  a  chorus.  I  incline  to  the 
opinion  that  they  are  performing  together,  that 
they  know  the  tune,  and  each  carries  his  part, 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS        227 

self-selected,  in  free  meeting,  and  therefore  never 
discordant.  The  hour  rule  of  Congress  might  be 
useful,  though  far  less  needed  among  the  frogs 
than  among  the  profane  croakers  of  the  fens  at 
Washington." 

Here  is  a  sketch  of  the  mountain  scenery  of  New 
Hampshire,  as  seen  from  the  Holderness  Moun- 
tain, or  North  Hill,  during  a  visit  which  he  made 
to  his  native  valley  in  the  autumn  of  1841 :  — 

"  The  earth  sphered  up  all  around  us,  in  every 
quarter  of  the  horizon,  like  the  crater  of  a  vast  vol- 
cano, and  the  great  hollow  within  the  mountain 
circle  was  as  smoky  as  Vesuvius  or  Etna  in  their 
recess  of  eruption.  The  little  village  of  Plymouth 
lay  right  at  our  feet,  with  its  beautiful  expanse  of 
intervale  opening  on  the  eye  like  a  lake  among  the 
woods  and  hills,  and  the  Pemigewasset,  bordered 
along  its  crooked  way  with  rows  of  maples,  mean- 
dering from  upland  to  upland  through  the  mea- 
dows. Our  young  footsteps  had  wandered  over 
these  localities.  Time  had  cast  it  all  far  back: 
that  Pemigewasset,  with  its  meadows  and  border 
trees ;  that  little  village  whitening  in  the  margin 
of  its  intervale ;  and  that  one  house  which  we  could 
distinguish,  where  the  mother  that  watched  over 
and  endured  our  wayward  childhood  totters  at 
fourscore ! 

"  To  the  south  stretched  a  broken,  swelling  up- 
land country,  but  champaign  from  the  top  of  North 
Hill,  patched  all  over  with  grain-fields  and  green 
wood-lots,  the  roofs  of  the  farm-houses  shining  in 
the  sun.  Southwest,  the  Cardigan  Mountain 
showed  its  bald  forehead  among  the  smokes  of  a 


228  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

thousand  fires,  kindled  in  the  woods  in  the  long 
drought.  Westward,  Moosehillock  heaved  up  its 
long  back,  black  as  a  whale ;  and  turning  the  eye 
on  northward,  glancing  down  the  while  on  the 
Baker's  River  valley,  dotted  over  with  human 
dwellings  like  shingle-bunches  for  size,  you  behold 
the  great  Franconia  Range,  its  Notch  and  its 
Haystacks,  the  Elephant  Mountain  on  the  left,  and 
Lafayette  (Great  Haystack)  on  the  right,  shooting 
its  peak  in  solemn  loneliness  high  up  into  the  des- 
ert sky,  and  overtopping  all  the  neighboring  Alps 
but  Mount  Washington  itself.  The  prospect  of 
these  is  most  impressive  and  satisfactory.  We  don't 
believe  the  earth  presents  a  finer  mountain  display. 
The  Haystacks  stand  there  like  the  Pyramids  on 
the  wall  of  mountains.  One  of  them  eminently 
has  this  Egyptian  shape.  It  is  as  accurate  a  pyra- 
mid to  the  eye  as  any  in  the  old  valley  of  the  Nile, 
and  a  good  deal  bigger  than  any  of  those  hoary 
monuments  of  human  presumption,  of  the  impious 
tyranny  of  monarchs  and  priests,  and  of  the  appall- 
ing servility  of  the  erecting  multitude.  Arthur's 
Seat  in  Edinburgh  does  not  more  finely  resemble  a 
sleeping  lion  than  the  huge  mountain  on  the  left  of 
the  Notch  does  an  elephant,  with  his  great,  over- 
grown rump  turned  uncivilly  toward  the  gap  where 
the  people  have  to  pass.  Following  round  the 
panorama,  you  come  to  the  Ossipees  and  the  Sand- 
wich Mountains,  peaks  innumerable  and  nameless, 
and  of  every  variety  of  fantastic  shape.  Down 
their  vast  sides  are  displayed  the  melancholy-look- 
ing slides,  contrasting  with  the  fathomless  woods. 
"  But  the  lakes,  —  you  see  lakes,  as  well  as  woods 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS    229 

and  mountains,  from  the  top  of  North  Hill.  New- 
found Lake  in  Hebron,  only  eight  miles  distant,  you 
cavbt  see;  it  lies  too  deep  among  the  hills.  Ponds 
show  their  small  blue  mirrors  from  various  quarters 
of  the  great  picture.  Worthen's  Mill-Pond  and  the 
Hardback,  where  we  used  to  fish  for  trout  in  truant, 
barefooted  days,  Blair's  Mill-Pond,  White  Oak 
Pond,  and  Long  Pond,  and  the  Little  Squam,  a 
beautiful  dark  sheet  of  deep,  blue  water,  about  two 
miles  long,  stretched  an;  id  the  green  hills  and  woods, 
with  a  charming  little  beach  at  its  eastern  end,  and 
without  an  island.  And  then  the  Great  Squam, 
connected  with  it  on  the  east  by  a  short,  narrow 
stream,  the  very  queen  of  ponds,  with  its  fleet  of 
islands,  surpassing  in  beauty  all  the  foreign  waters 
we  have  seen,  in  Scotland  or  elsewhere,  —  the 
islands  covered  with  evergreens,  which  impart  their 
hue  to  the  mass  of  the  lake,  as  it  stretches  seven 
miles  on  east  from  its  smaller  sister,  towards  the 
peerless  Winnipesaukee.  Great  Squam  is  as  beauti- 
ful as  water  and  island  can  be.  But  Winnipesaukee, 
it  is  the  very  '  Smile  of  the  Great  Spirit.'  It  looks 
as  if  it  had  a  thousand  islands ;  some  of  them  large 
enough  for  little  towns,  and  others  not  bigger  than 
a  swan  or  a  wild  duck  swimming  on  its  surface  of 
glass." 

His  wit  and  sarcasm  were  generally  too  good- 
natured  to  provoke  even  their  unfortunate  objects, 
playing  all  over  his  editorials  like  the  thunderless 
lightnings  which  quiver  along  the  horizon  of  a  night 
of  summer  calmness  ;  but  at  times  his  indignation 
launched  them  like  bolts  from  heaven.  Take  the 
following  as  a  specimen.  He  is  speaking  of  the 


230  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

gag  rule  of  Congress,  and  commending  Southern 
representatives  for  their  skilful  selection  of  a  proper 
person  to  do  their  work  :  — 

"  They  have  a  quick  eye  at  the  South  to  the  char- 
acter, or,  as  they  would  say,  the  points  of  a  slave. 
They  look  into  him  shrewdly,  as  an  old  jockey  does 
into  a  horse.  They  will  pick  him  out,  at  rifle-shot 
distance,  among  a  thousand  freemen.  They  have 
a  nice  eye  to  detect  shades  of  vassalage.  They  saw 
in  the  aristocratic  popinjay  strut  of  a  counterfeit 
Democrat  an  itching  aspiration  to  play  the  slave- 
holder. They  beheld  it  in  '  the  cut  of  his  jib,'  and 
his  extreme  Northern  position  made  him  the  very 
tool  for  their  purpose.  The  little  creature  has 
struck  at  the  right  of  petition.  A  paltrier  hand 
never  struck  at  a  noble  right.  The  Eagle  Right  of 
Petition,  so  loftily  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the  Con- 
stitution that  Congress  can't  begin  to  '  abridge '  it, 
in  its  pride  of  place,  is  hawked  at  by  this  crested 
jay-bird.  A  *  mousing  owl '  would  have  seen  better 
at  midnoon  than  to  have  done  it.  It  is  an  idiot 
blue-jay,  such  as  you  see  fooling  about  among  the 
shrub  oaks  and  dwarf  pitch  pines  in  the  winter. 
What  an  ignominious  death  to  the  lofty  right,  were 
it  to  die  by  such  a  hand  ;  but  it  does  not  die.  It 
is  impalpable  to  the  'malicious  mockery'  of  such 
4  vain  blows.'  We  are  glad  it  is  done  —  done  by 
the  South  —  done  proudly,  and  in  slaveholding 
style,  by  the  hand  of  a  vassal.  What  a  man  does 
by  another  he  does  by  himself,  says  the  maxim. 
But  they  will  disown  the  honor  of  it,  and  cast  it  on 
the  despised  '•free  nigger '  North." 

Or  this  description  —  not  very  flattering  to  the 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS    231 

"  Old  Commonwealth  "  —  of  the  treatment  of  the 
agent  of  Massachusetts  in  South  Carolina :  — 

"  Slavery  may  perpetrate  anything,  and  New 
England  can't  see  it.  It  can  horsewhip  the  old 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  and  spit  in  her 
governmental  face,  and  she  will  not  recognize  it  as 
an  offence.  She  sent  her  agent  to  Charleston  on 
a  State  embassy.  Slavery  caught  him,  and  sent  him 
ignominiously  home.  The  solemn  great  man  came 
back  in  a  hurry.  He  returned  in  a  most  undigni- 
fied trot.  He  ran  ;  he  scampered,  —  the  stately 
official.  The  Old  Bay  State  actually  pulled  foot, 
cleared,  dug,  as  they  say,  like  any  scamp  with  a  hue 
and  cry  after  him.  Her  grave  old  Senator,  who  no 
more  thought  of  having  to  break  his  stately  walk 
than  he  had  of  being  flogged  at  school  for  stealing- 
apples,  came  back  from  Carolina  upon  the  full  run, 
out  of  breath  and  out  of  dignity.  Well,  what 's  the 
result  ?  Why,  nothing.  She  no  more  thinks  of 
showing  resentment  about  it  than  she  would  if  light- 
ning had  struck  him.  He  was  sent  back  '  by  the 
visitation  of  God  ; '  and  if  they  had  lynched  him  to 
death,  and  stained  the  streets  of  Charleston  with 
his  blood,  a  Boston  jury,  if  they  could  have  held 
inquest  over  him,  would  have  found  that  he  '  died 
by  the  visitation  of  God.'  And  it  would  have  been 
'  crowner's  quest  law,'  Slavery's  '  crowners.'  " 

Here  is  a  specimen  of  his  graceful  blending  of 
irony  and  humor.  He  is  expostulating  with  his 
neighbor  of  the  New  Hampshire  Patriot,  assuring 
him  that  he  cannot  endure  the  ponderous  weight 
of  his  arguments,  begging  for  a  little  respite,  and, 
as  a  means  of  obtaining  it,  urging  the  editor  to 


232  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES 

travel.  He  advises  him  to  go  South,  to  the  White 
Sulphur  Springs,  and  thinks  that,  despite  of  his 
dark  complexion,  he  would  be  safe  there  from  be- 
ing sold  for  jail  fees,  as  his  pro-slavery  merits 
would  more  than  counterbalance  his  colored  liabil- 
ities, which,  after  all,  were  only  prima  facie  evi- 
dence against  him.  He  suggests  Texas,  also,  as  a 
place  where  "  patriots  "  of  a  certain  class  "  most  do 
congregate,"  and  continues  as  follows  :  — 

"  There  is  Arkansas,  too,  all  glorious  in  new-born 
liberty,  fresh  and  unsullied,  like  Venus  out  of  the 
ocean,  —  that  newly  discovered  star  in  the  firma- 
ment banner  of  this  Republic.  Sister  Arkansas, 
with  her  bowie-knife  graceful  at  her  side,  like  the 
huntress  Diana  with  her  silver  bow,  —  oh  it  would 
be  refreshing  and  recruiting  to  an  exhausted  pa- 
triot to  go  and  replenish  his  soul  at  her  fountains. 
The  newly  evacuated  lands  of  the  Cherokee,  too,  a 
sweet  place  now  for  a  lover  of  his  country  to  visit, 
to  renew  his  self-complacency  by  wandering  among 
the  quenched  hearths  of  the  expatriated  Indians ; 
a  land  all  smoking  with  the  red  man's  departing 
curse,  —  a  malediction  that  went  to  the  centre. 
Yes,  and  Florida,  —  blossoming  and  leafy  Florida, 
yet  warm  with  the  life-blood  of  Osceola  and  his 
warriors,  shed  gloriously  under  flag  of  truce. 
Why  should  a  patriot  of  such  a  fancy  for  nature 
immure  himself  in  the  cells  of  the  city,  and  forego 
such  an  inviting  and  so  broad  a  landscape  ?  Ite 
viator.  Go  forth,  traveller,  and  leave  this  mouldy 
editing  to  less  elastic  fancies.  We  would  respect- 
fully invite  our  Colonel  to  travel.  What  signi- 
fies ?  Journey  —  wander  —  go  forth  —  itinerate  — 
exercise  —  perambulate  —  roam." 


NATHANIEL  PEA  BODY  ROGERS        233 

He  gives  the  following  ludicrous  definition  of 
Congress :  — 

"  But  what  is  Congress  ?  It  is  the  echo  of  the 
country  at  home,  —  the  weathercock,  that  denotes 
and  answers  the  shifting  wind,  —  a  thing  of  tail, 
nearly  all  tail,  moved  by  the  tail  and  by  the  wind, 
with  small  heading,  and  that  corresponding  im- 
plicitly in  movement  with  the  broad  sail-like  stern, 
which  widens  out  behind  to  catch  the  rum-fraught 
breath  of  'the  Brotherhood.'  As  that  turns,  it 
turns ;  when  that  stops,  it  stops ;  and  in  calmish 
weather  looks  as  steadfast  and  firm  as  though  it 
was  riveted  to  the  centre.  The  wind  blows,  and 
the  little  popularity-hunting  head  dodges  this  way 
and  that,  in  endless  fluctuation.  Such  is  Congress, 
or  a  great  portion  of  it.  It  will  point  to  the  north- 
west heavens  of  Liberty,  whenever  the  breezes 
bear  down  irresistibly  upon  it,  from  the  regions  of 
political  fair  weather.  It  will  abolish  slavery  at 
the  Capitol,  when  it  has  already  been  doomed  to 
abolition  and  death  everywhere  else  in  the  coun- 
try. '  It  will  be  in  at  the  death.' " 

Replying  to  the  charge  that  the  Abolitionists  of 
the  North  were  "  secret  "  in  their  movements  and 
designs,  he  says  :  — 

"  '  In  secret ! '  Why,  our  movements  have  been 
as  prominent  and  open  as  the  house-tops  from  the 
beginning.  We  have  striven  from  the  outset  to 
write  the  whole  matter  cloud -high  in  the  heav- 
ens, that  the  utmost  South  might  read  it.  We 
have  cast  an  arc  upon  the  horizon,  like  the  semi- 
circle of  the  polar  lights,  and  upon  it  have  bent 
our  motto,  '  Immediate  Emancipation,'  glorious  as 


234  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

the  rainbow.  We  have  engraven  it  there,  on  the 
blue  table  of  the  cold  vault,  in  letters  tall  enough 
for  the  reading  of  the  nations.  And  why  has  the 
far  South  not  read  and  believed  before  this  ?  Be- 
cause a  steam  has  gone  up  —  a  fog  —  from  New 
England's  pulpit  and  her  degenerate  press,  and 
hidden  the  beaming  revelation  from  its  vision. 
The  Northern  hierarchy  and  aristocracy  have 
cheated  the  South." 

He  spoke  at  times  with  severity  of  slaveholders, 
but  far  oftener  of  those  who,  without  the  excuse 
of  education  and  habit,  and  prompted  only  by  a 
selfish  consideration  of  political  or  sectarian  ad- 
vantage, apologized  for  the  wrong,  and  discoun- 
tenanced the  anti-slavery  movement.  "  We  have 
nothing  to  say,"  said  he,  "  to  the  slave.  He  is  no 
party  to  his  own  enslavement,  —  he  is  none  to  his 
disenthralment.  We  have  nothing  to  say  to  the 
South.  The  real  holder  of  slaves  is  not  there.  He 
is  in  the  North,  the  free  North.  The  South  alone 
has  not  the  power  to  hold  the  slave.  It  is  the 
character  of  the  nation  that  binds  and  holds  him. 
It  is  the  Republic  that  does  it,  the  efficient  force 
of  which  is  north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line.  By 
virtue  of  the  majority  of  Northern  hearts  and 
voices,  slavery  lives  in  the  South  !  " 

In  1840,  he  spent  a  few  weeks  in  England,  Ire- 
land, and  Scotland.  He  has  left  behind  a  few 
beautiful  memorials  of  his  tour.  His  Ride  over 
the  Border,  Ride  into  Edinburgh,  Wincobank 
Hall,  Ailsa  Craig,  gave  his  paper  an  interest  in 
the  eyes  of  many  who  had  no  sympathy  with  his 
political  and  religious  views. 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS        235 

Scattered  all  over  his  editorials,  like  gems,  are 
to  be  found  beautiful  images,  sweet  touches  of 
heartfelt  pathos,  —  thoughts  which  the  reader 
pauses  over  with  surprise  and  delight.  We  sub- 
join a  few  specimens,  taken  almost  at  random 
from  the  book  before  us  :  — 

"  A  thunder-storm,  —  what  can  match  it  for  elo- 
quence and  poetry?  That  rush  from  heaven  of 
the  big  drops,  in  what  multitude  and  succession, 
and  how  they  sound  as  they  strike !  How  they 
play  on  the  old  home  roof  and  the  thick  tree-tops  ! 
What  music  to  go  to  sleep  by,  to  the  tired  boy,  as 
he  lies  under  the  naked  roof !  And  the  great, 
low  bass  thunder,  as  it  rolls  off  over  the  hills,  and 
settles  down  behind  them  to  the  very  centre,  and 
you  can  feel  the  old  earth  jar  under  your  feet !  " 

"  There  was  no  oratory  in  the  speech  of  the 
Learned  Blacksmith,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  that 
word,  no  grace  of  elocution,  but  mighty  thoughts 
radiating  off  from  his  heated  mind,  like  sparks 
from  the  glowing  steel  of  his  own  anvil." 

"  The  hard  hands  of  Irish  labor,  with  nothing  in 
them,  —  they  ring  like  slabs  of  marble  together, 
in  response  to  the  wild  appeals  of  O'Connell,  and 
the  British  stand  conquered  before  them,  with 
shouldered  arms.  Ireland  is  on  her  feet,  with 
nothing  in  her  hands,  impregnable,  unassailable,  in 
utter  defencelessness,  —  the  first  time  that  ever  a 
nation  sprung  to  its  feet  unarmed.  The  veterans 
of  England  behold  them,  and  forbear  to  fire. 
They  see  no  mark.  It  will  not  do  to  fire  upon 
men  ;  it  will  do  only  to  fire  upon  soldiers.  They 
are  the  proper  mark  of  the  murderous  gun,  but 
men  cannot  be  shot." 


236  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"  It  is  coming  to  that  [abolition  of  war]  the 
world  over  ;  and  when  it  does  come  to  it,  oh  what  a 
long  breath  of  relief  the  tired  world  will  draw,  as 
it  stretches  itself  for  the  first  time  out  upon  earth's 
greensward,  and  learns  the  meaning  of  repose  and 
peaceful  sleep !  " 

"  He  who  vests  his  labor  in  the  faithful  ground 
is  dealing  directly  with  God ;  human  fraud  or 
weakness  do  not  intervene  between  him  and  his 
requital.  No  mechanic  has  a  set  of  customers  so 
trustworthy  as  God  and  the  elements.  No  savings 
bank  is  so  sure  as  the  old  earth." 

"  Literature  is  the  luxury  of  words.  It  origi- 
nates nothing,  it  does  nothing.  It  talks  hard 
words  about  the  labor  of  others,  and  is  reckoned 
more  meritorious  for  it  than  genius  and  labor  for 
doing  what  learning  can  only  descant  upon.  It 
trades  on  the  capital  of  unlettered  minds.  It 
struts  in  stolen  plumage,  and  it  is  mere  plumage. 
A  learned  man  resembles  an  owl  in  more  respects 
than  the  matter  of  wisdom.  Like  that  solemn 
bird,  he  is  about  all  feathers." 

"Our  Second  Advent  friends  contemplate  a 
grand  conflagration  about  the  first  of  April  next. 
I  should  be  willing  there  should  be  one,  if  it  could 
be  confined  to  the  productions  of  the  press,  with 
which  the  earth  is  absolutely  smothered.  Human- 
ity wants  precious  few  books  to  read,  but  the  great 
living,  breathing,  immortal  volume  of  Providence. 
Life,  —  real  life,  —  how  to  live,  how  to  treat  one 
another,  and  how  to  trust  God  in  matters  beyond 
our  ken  and  occasion,  —  these  are  the  lessons  to 
learn,  and  you  find  little  of  them  in  libraries." 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS   237 

"  That  accursed  drum  and  fife !  How  they  have 
maddened  mankind !  And  the  deep  bass  boom  of 
the  cannon,  chiming  in  in  the  chorus  of  battle,  that 
trumpet  and  wild  charging  bugle,  —  how  they  set 
the  military  devil  in  a  man,  and  make  him  into  a 
soldier  !  Think  of  the  human  family  falling  upon 
one  another  at  the  inspiration  of  music !  How  must 
God  feel  at  it,  to  see  those  harp-strings  he  meant 
should  be  waked  to  a  love  bordering  on  divine, 
strung  and  swept  to  mortal  hate  and  butchery  !  " 

"  Leave  off  being  Jews,"  (he  is  addressing  Major 
Noah  with  regard  to  his  appeal  to  his  brethren  to 
return  to  Judaea,)  "  and  turn  mankind.  The  rocks 
and  sands  of  Palestine  have  been  worshipped  long 
enough.  Connecticut  River  or  the  Merrimac  are 
as  good  rivers  as  any  Jordan  that  ever  run  into  a 
dead  or  live  sea,  and  as  holy,  for  that  matter.  In 
Humanity,  as  in  Christ  Jesus,  as  Paul  says,  '  there 
is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek.'  And  there  ought  to  be 
none.  Let  Humanity  be  reverenced  with  the  ten- 
derest  devotion  ;  suffering,  discouraged,  down-trod- 
den, hard-handed,  haggard-eyed,  care-worn  man- 
kind !  Let  these  be  regarded  a  little.  Would  to 
God  I  could  alleviate  all  their  sorrows,  and  leave 
them  a  chance  to  laugh  !  They  are  miserable  now. 
They  might  be  as  happy  as  the  blackbird  on  the 
spray,  and  as  full  of  melody." 

"  I  am  sick  as  death  at  this  miserable  struggle 
among  mankind  for  a  living.  Poor  devils  !  were 
they  born  to  run  such  a  gauntlet  after  the  means 
of  life  ?  Look  about  you,  and  see  your  squirming 
neighbors,  writhing  and  twisting  like  so  many  angle- 
worms in  a  fisher's  bait-box,  or  the  wriggling  ani- 


238  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

maleulse  seen  in  the  vinegar  drop  held  to  the  sun. 
How  they  look,  how  they  feel,  how  base  it  makes 
them  all!" 

"  Every  human  being  is  entitled  to  the  means  of 
life,  as  the  trout  is  to  his  brook  or  the  lark  to  the 
blue  sky.  Is  it  well  to  put  a  human  '  young  one ' 
here  to  die  of  hunger,  thirst,  and  nakedness,  or  else 
be  preserved  as  a  pauper  ?  Is  this  fair  earth  but  a 
poor-house  by  creation  and  intent  ?  Was  it  made 
for  that  ?  —  and  these  other  round  things  we  see 
dancing  in  the  firmament  to  the  music  of  the 
spheres,  are  they  all  great  shining  poor-houses  ?  " 

"  The  divines  always  admit  things  after  the  age 
has  adopted  them.  They  are  as  careful  of  the 
age  as  the  weathercock  is  of  the  wind.  You  might 
as  well  catch  an  old  experienced  weathercock,  on 
some  ancient  Orthodox  steeple,  standing  all  day 
with  its  tail  east  in  a  strong  out  wind,  as  the  divines 
at  odds  with  the  age." 

But  we  must  cease  quoting.  The  admirers  of 
Jean  Paul  Richter  might  find  much  of  the  charm 
and  variety  of  the  "  Flower,  Fruit,  and  Thorn 
Pieces  "  in  this  newspaper  collection.  They  may 
see,  perhaps,  as  we  do,  some  things  which  they 
cannot  approve  of,  the  tendency  of  which,  however 
intended,  is  very  questionable.  But,  with  us,  they 
will  pardon  something  to  the  spirit  of  liberty, 
much  to  that  of  love  and  humanity  which  breathes 
through  all. 

Disgusted  and  heart-sick  at  the  general  indiffer- 
ence of  Church  and  clergy  to  the  temporal  condition 
of  the  people,  —  at  their  apologies  for  and  defences 
of  slavery,  war,  and  capital  punishment,  —  Rogers 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS       239 

turned  Protestant,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  term. 
He  spoke  of  priests  and  "  pulpit  wizards  "  as  freely 
as  John  Milton  did  two  centuries  ago,  although 
with  far  less  bitterness  and  rasping  satire.  He 
could  not  endure  to  see  Christianity  and  Humanity 
divorced.  He  longed  to  see  the  beautiful  life  of 
Jesus  —  his  sweet  humanities,  his  brotherly  love, 
his  abounding  sympathies  —  made  the  example  of 
all  men.  Thoroughly  democratic,  in  his  view  all 
men  were  equal.  Priests,  stripped  of  their  sacer- 
dotal tailoring,  were  in  his  view  but  men,  after  all. 
He  pitied  them,  he  said,  for  they  were  in  a  wrong 
position,  —  above  life's  comforts  and  sympathies,  — 
"  up  in  the  unnatural  cold,  they  had  better  come 
down  among  men,  and  endure  and  enjoy  with 
them."  "  Mankind,"  said  he,  "  want  the  healing 
influences  of  humanity.  They  must  love  one  an- 
other more.  Disinterested  good  will  make  the 
world  as  it  should  be." 

His  last  visit  to  his  native  valley  was  in  the 
autumn  of  1845.  In  a  familiar  letter  to  a  friend, 
he  thus  describes  his  farewell  view  of  the  mountain 
glories  of  his  childhood's  home  :  — 

"  I  went  a  jaunt,  Thursday  last,  about  twenty 
miles  north  of  this  valley,  into  the  mountain  region, 
where  what  I  beheld,  if  I  could  tell  it  as  I  saw  it, 
would  make  your  outlawed  sheet  sought  after  wher- 
ever our  Anglo-Saxon  tongue  is  spoken  in  the  wide 
world.  I  have  been  many  a  time  among  those 
Alps,  and  never  without  a  kindling  of  wildest 
enthusiasm  in  my  woodland  blood.  But  I  never 
saw  them  till  last  Thursday.  They  never  loomed 
distinctly  to  my  eye  before,  and  the  sun  never  shone 


240  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

on  them  from  heaven  till  then.  They  were  so  near 
me,  I  could  seem  to  hear  the  voice  of  their  cataracts, 
as  I  could  count  their  great  slides,  streaming  adown 
their  lone  and  desolate  sides,  —  old  slides,  some  of 
them  overgrown  with  young  woods,  like  half -healed 
scars  on  the  breast  of  a  giant.  The  great  rains 
had  clothed  the  valleys  of  the  upper  Pemigewasset 
in  the  darkest  and  deepest  green.  The  meadows 
were  richer  and  more  glorious  in  their  thick  '  fall 
feed '  than  Queen  Anne's  Garden,  as  I  saw  it 
from  the  windows  of  Windsor  Castle.  And  the 
dark  hemlock  and  hackmatack  woods  were  yet 
darker  after  the  wet  season,  as  they  lay,  in  a  hun- 
dred wildernesses,  in  the  mighty  recesses  of  the 
mountains.  But  the  peaks,  —  the  eternal,  the 
solitary,  the  beautiful,  the  glorious  and  dear  moun- 
tain peaks,  my  own  Moosehillock  and  my  native 
Haystacks,  —  these  were  the  things  on  which  eye 
and  heart  gazed  and  lingered,  and  I  seemed  to  see 
them  for  the  last  time.  It  was  on  my  way  back 
that  I  halted  and  turned  to  look  at  them  from  a 
high  point  on  the  Thornton  road.  It  was  about 
four  in  the  afternoon.  It  had  rained  among  the 
hills  about  the  Notch,  and  cleared  off.  The  sun, 
there  sombred  at  that  early  hour,  as  towards  his 
setting,  was  pouring  his  most  glorious  light  upon 
the  naked  peaks,  and  they  casting  their  mighty 
shadows  far  down  among  the  inaccessible  woods 
that  darken  the  hollows  that  stretch  between  their 
bases.  A  cloud  was  creeping  up  to  perch  and  rest 
awhile  on  the  highest  top  of  Great  Haystack. 
Vulgar  folks  have  called  it  Mount  Lafayette,  since 
the  visit  of  that  brave  old  Frenchman  in  1825  or 


NATHANIEL   PEABODY  ROGERS        241 

1826.  If  they  had  asked  his  opinion,  he  would 
have  told  them  the  names  of  mountains  could  n't 
be  altered,  and  especially  names  like  that,  so 
appropriate,  so  descriptive,  and  so  picturesque. 
A  little  hard  white  cloud,  that  looked  like  a  hun- 
dred fleeces  of  wool  rolled  into  one,  was  climbing 
rapidly  along  up  the  northwestern  ridge,  that 
ascended  to  the  lonely  top  of  Great  Haystack. 
All  the  others  were  bare.  Four  or  five  of  them,  — 
as  distinct  and  shapely  as  so  many  pyramids ; 
some  topped  out  with  naked  cliff,  on  which  the  sun 
lay  in  melancholy  glory ;  others  clothed  thick  all 
the  way  up  with  the  old  New  Hampshire  hemlock 
or  the  daring  hackmatack,  —  Pierpont's  hack- 
matack. You  could  see  their  shadows  stretching 
many  and  many  a  mile,  over  Grant  and  Loca- 
tion, away  beyond  the  invading  foot  of  Incorpora- 
tion, —  where  the  timber-hunter  has  scarcely  ex- 
plored, and  where  the  moose  browses  now,  I 
suppose,  as  undisturbed  as  he  did  before  the  settle- 
ment of  the  State.  I  wish  our  young  friend  and 
genius,  Harrison  Eastman,  had  been  with  me,  to 
see  the  sunlight  as  it  glared  on  the  tops  of  those 
woods,  and  to  see  the  purple  of  the  mountains.  I 
looked  at  it  myself  almost  with  the  eye  of  a  painter. 
If  a  painter  looked  with  mine,  though,  he  never 
could  look  off  upon  his  canvas  long  enough  to 
make  a  picture;  he  would  gaze  forever  at  the 
original. 

"  But  I  had  to  leave  it,  and  to  say  in  my  heart, 
Farewell !  And  as  I  travelled  on  down,  and  the 
sun  sunk  lower  and  lower  towards  the  summit  of 
the  western  ridge,  the  clouds  came  up  and  formed 


242  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

an  Alpine  range  in  the  evening  heavens  above  it, 
—  like  other  Haystacks  and  Moosehillocks,  —  so 
dark  and  dense  that  fancy  could  easily  mistake 
them  for  a  higher  Alps.  There  were  the  peaks 
and  the  great  passes;  the  Franconia  Notches 
among  the  cloudy  cliffs,  and  the  great  White 
Mountain  Gap." 

His  health,  never  robust,  had  been  gradually 
failing  for  some  time  previous  to  his  death.  He 
needed  more  repose  and  quiet  than  his  duties  as 
an  editor  left  him ;  and  to  this  end  he  purchased  a 
small  and  pleasant  farm  in  his  loved  Peinigewasset 
valley,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  there  recruit  his 
wasted  energies.  In  the  sixth  month  of  the  year 
of  his  death,  in  a  letter  to  us,  he  spoke  of  his  pros- 
pects in  language  which  even  then  brought  moist- 
ure to  our  eyes : — 

"  I  am  striving  to  get  me  an  asylum  of  a  farm. 
I  have  a  wife  and  seven  children,  every  one  of 
them  with  a  whole  spirit.  I  don't  want  to  be  sep- 
arated from  any  of  them,  only  with  a  view  to  come 
together  again.  I  have  a  beautiful  little  retreat  in 
prospect,  forty  odd  miles  north,  where  I  imagine 
I  can  get  potatoes  and  repose,  —  a  sort  of  haven 
or  port.  I  am  among  the  breakers,  and  'mad 
for  land.'  If  I  get  this  home,  —  it  is  a  mile  or  two 
in  among  the  hills  from  the  pretty  domicil  once 
visited  by  yourself  and  glorious  Thompson,  —  I  am 
this  moment  indulging  the  fancy  that  I  may  see 
you  at  it  before  we  die.  Why  can't  I  have  you 
come  and  see  me?  You  see,  dear  W.,  I  don't 
want  to  send  you  anything  short  of  a  full  epistle. 
Let  me  end  as  I  begun,  with  the  proffer  of  my 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS        243 

hand  in  grasp  of  yours  extended.  My  heart  I  do 
not  proffer,  —  it  was  yours  before,  —  it  shall  be 
yours  while  I  am  N.  P.  KOGERS." 

Alas !  the  haven  of  a  deeper  repose  than  he  had 
dreamed  of  was  close  at  hand.  He  lingered  until 
the  middle  of  the  tenth  month,  suffering  much,  yet 
calm  and  sensible  to  the  last.  Just  before  his 
death,  he  desired  his  children  to  sing  at  his  bedside 
that  touching  song  of  Lover's,  The  Angel's  Whis- 
per. Turning  his  eyes  towards  the  open  window, 
through  which  the  leafy  glory  of  the  season  he 
most  loved  was  visible,  he  listened  to  the  sweet 
melody.  In  the  words  of  his  friend  Pierpont,  — 

"  The  angel's  whisper  stole  in  song  upon  his  closing  ear; 
From  his  own  daughter's  lips  it  came,  so  musical  and  clear, 
That  scarcely  knew  the  dying  man  what  melody  was  there  — 
The  last  of  earth's  or  first  of  heaven's  pervading  all  the  air." 

He  sleeps  in  the  Concord  burial-ground,  under 
the  shadow  of  oaks ;  the  very  spot  he  would 
have  chosen,  for  he  looked  upon  trees  with  some- 
thing akin  to  human  affection.  "  They  are,"  he 
said,  "  the  beautiful  handiwork  and  architecture  of 
God,  on  which  the  eye  never  tires.  Every  one  is 
'  a  feather  in  the  earth's  cap,'  a  plume  in  her  bon- 
net, a  tress  on  her  forehead,  —  a  comfort,  a  re- 
freshing, and  an  ornament  to  her."  Spring  has 
hung  over  him  her  buds,  and  opened  beside  him 
her  violets.  Summer  has  laid  her  green  oaken 
garland  on  his  grave,  and  now  the  frost-blooms  of 
autumn  drop  upon  it.  Shall  man  cast  a  nettle  on 
that  mound  ?  He  loved  humanity,  —  shall  it  be 
less  kind  to  him  than  Nature  ?  Shall  the  bigotry 
of  sect,  and  creed,  and  profession,  drive  its  con- 


244  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

demnatory  stake  into  his  grave?  God  forbid. 
The  doubts  which  he  sometimes  unguardedly  ex- 
pressed had  relation,  we  are  constrained  to  believe, 
to  the  glosses  of  commentators  and  creed-makers 
and  the  inconsistency  of  professors,  rather  than  to 
those  facts  and  precepts  of  Christianity  to  which 
he  gave  the  constant  assent  of  his  practice.  He 
sought  not  his  own.  His  heart  yearned  with  pity 
and  brotherly  affection  for  all  the  poor  and  suffer- 
ing in  the  universe.  Of  him,  the  angel  of  Leigh 
Hunt's  beautiful  allegory  might  have  written,  in 
the  golden  book  of  remembrance,  as  he  did  of  the 
good  Abou  Ben  Adhem,  "  He  loved  his  fellow- 
men." 


KOBEKT  DINSMORE. 

THE  great  charm  of  Scottish  poetry  consists  in 
its  simplicity,  and  genuine,  unaffected  sympathy 
with  the  common  joys  and  sorrows  of  daily  life.  It 
is  a  home-taught,  household  melody.  It  calls  to 
mind  the  pastoral  bleat  on  the  hillsides,  the  kirk- 
bells  of  a  summer  Sabbath,  the  song  of  the  lark  in 
the  sunrise,  the  cry  of  the  quail  in  the  corn-land, 
the  low  of  cattle,  and  the  blithe  carol  of  milkmaids 
"  when  the  kye  come  hame  "  at  gloaming.  Meet- 
ings at  fair  and  market,  blushing  betrothments, 
merry  weddings,  the  joy  of  young  maternity,  the 
lights  and  shades  of  domestic  life,  its  bereavements 
and  partings,  its  chances  and  changes,  its  holy 
death-beds,  and  funerals  solemnly  beautiful  in 
quiet  kirkyards,  —  these  furnish  the  hints  of  the 
immortal  melodies  of  Burns,  the  sweet  ballads  of 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd  and  Allan  Cunningham,  and 
the  rustic  drama  of  Ramsay.  It  is  the  poetry  of 
home,  of  nature,  and  the  affections. 

All  this  is  sadly  wanting  in  our  young  literature. 
We  have  no  songs ;  American  domestic  life  has 
never  been  hallowed  and  beautified  by  the  sweet 
and  graceful  and  tender  associations  of  poetry. 
We  have  no  Yankee  pastorals.  Our  rivers  and 
streams  turn  mills  and  float  rafts,  and  are  other- 
wise as  commendably  useful  as  those  of  Scotland  ; 
but  no  quaint  ballad  or  simple  song  reminds  us 


246  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

that  men  and  women  have  loved,  met,  and  parted 
on  their  banks,  or  that  beneath  each  roof  within 
their  valleys  the  tragedy  and  comedy  of  life  have 
been  enacted.  Our  poetry  is  cold  and  imitative ; 
it  seems  more  the  product  of  over-strained  intel- 
lects than  the  spontaneous  outgushing  of  hearts 
warm  with  love,  and  strongly  sympathizing  with 
human  nature  as  it  actually  exists  about  us,  with 
the  joys  and  griefs  of  the  men  and  women  whom 
we  meet  daily.  Unhappily,  the  opinion  prevails 
that  a  poet  must  be  also  a  philosopher,  and  hence 
it  is  that  much  of  our  poetry  is  as  indefinable  in 
its  mysticism  as  an  Indian  Brahmin's  commentary 
on  his  sacred  books,  or  German  metaphysics  sub- 
jected to  homceopathic  dilution.  It  assumes  to  be 
prophetical,  and  its  utterances  are  oracular.  It 
tells  of  strange,  vague  emotions  and  yearnings, 
painfully  suggestive  of  spiritual  "  groanings  which 
cannot  be  uttered."  If  it  "babbles  o'  green 
fields  "  and  the  common  sights  and  sounds  of  na- 
ture, it  is  only  for  the  purpose  of  finding  some 
vague  analogy  between  them  and  its  internal  ex- 
periences and  longings.  It  leaves  the  warm  and 
comfortable  fireside  of  actual  knowledge  and  hu- 
man comprehension,  and  goes  wailing  and  gibber- 
ing like  a  ghost  about  the  impassable  doors  of 
mystery :  — 

"  It  fain  would  be  resolved 

How  things  are  done, 
And  who  the  tailor  is 

That  works  for  the  man  i'  the  sun." 

How  shall  we  account  for  this  marked  tendency  in 
the  literature  of  a  shrewd,  practical  people  ?  Is  it 


ROBERT  DINSMORE  247 

that  real  life  in  New  England  lacks  those  con- 
ditions of  poetry  and  romance  which  age,  rever- 
ence, and  superstition  have  gathered  about  it  in 
the  Old  World  ?  Is  it  that 

"  Ours  are  not  Tempe's  nor  Arcadia's  vales," 

but  are  more  famous  for  growing  Indian  corn  and 
potatoes,  and  the  manufacture  of  wooden  ware 
and  pedler  notions,  than  for  romantic  associations 
and  legendary  interest  ?  That  our  huge,  unshapely 
shingle  structures,  blistering  in  the  sun  and  glar- 
ing with  windows,  were  evidently  never  reared  by 
the  spell  of  pastoral  harmonies,  as  the  walls  of 
Thebes  rose  at  the  sound  of  the  lyre  of  Amphion? 
That  the  habits  of  our  people  are  too  cool,  cau- 
tious, undemonstrative,  to  furnish  the  warp  and 
woof  of  song  and  pastoral,  and  that  their  dialect 
and  figures  of  speech,  however  richly  significant 
and  expressive  in  the  autobiography  of  Sam  Slick, 
or  the  satire  of  Hosea  Biglow  and  Ethan  Spike, 
form  a  very  awkward  medium  of  sentiment  and 
pathos  ?  All  this  may  be  true.  But  the  Yankee, 
after  all,  is  a  man,  and  as  such  his  history,  could 
it  be  got  at,  must  have  more  or  less  of  poetic  ma- 
terial in  it ;  moreover,  whether  conscious  of  it  or 
not,  he  also  stands  relieved  against  the  background 
of  Nature's  beauty  or  sublimity.  There  is  a  poeti- 
cal side  to  the  commonplace  of  his  incomings  and 
outgoings  ;  study  him  well,  and  you  may  frame  an 
idyl  of  some  sort  from  his  apparently  prosaic  ex- 
istence. Our  poets,  we  must  needs  think,  are 
deficient  in  that  shiftiness,  ready  adaptation  to 
circumstances,  and  ability  of  making  the  most  of 


248  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

things,  for  which,  as  a  people,  we  are  proverbial. 
Can  they  make  nothing  of  our  Thanksgiving,  that 
annual  gathering  of  long-severed  friends  ?  Do  they 
find  nothing  to  their  purpose  in  our  apple-bees, 
huskings,  berry  -  pickings,  summer  picnics,  and 
winter  sleigh-rides  ?  Is  there  nothing  available  in 
our  peculiarities  of  climate,  scenery,  customs,  and 
political  institutions  ?  Does  the  Yankee  leap  into 
life,  shrewd,  hard,  and  speculating,  armed,  like 
Pallas,  for  a  struggle  with  fortune  ?  Are  there 
not  boys  and  girls,  school  loves  and  friendship, 
courtings  and  match-makings,  hope  and  fear,  and 
all  the  varied  play  of  human  passions,  —  the  keen 
struggles  of  gain,  the  mad  grasping  of  ambition,  — 
sin  and  remorse,  tearful  repentance  and  holy  aspi- 
rations ?  Who  shall  say  that  we  have  not  all  the 
essentials  of  the  poetry  of  human  life  and  simple 
nature,  of  the  hearth  and  the  farm-field  ?  Here, 
then,  is  a  mine  un worked,  a  harvest  ungathered. 
Who  shall  sink  the  shaft  and  thrust  in  the  sickle  ? 

And  here  let  us  say  that  the  mere  dilettante  and 
the  amateur  ruralist  may  as  well  keep  their  hands 
off.  The  prize  is  not  for  them.  He  who  would 
successfully  strive  for  it  must  be  himself  what  he 
sings,  —  part  and  parcel  of  the  rural  life  of  New 
England,  —  one  who  has  grown  strong  amidst  its 
healthful  influences,  familiar  with  all  its  details,  and 
capable  of  detecting  whatever  of  beauty,  humor,  or 
pathos  pertain  to  it,  —  one  who  has  added  to  his 
book-lore  the  large  experience  of  an  active  partici- 
pation in  the  rugged  toil,  the  hearty  amusements, 
the  trials,  and  the  pleasures  he  describes. 

We  have  been  led  to  these  reflections  by  an  inci- 


ROBERT  DINSMORE  249 

dent  which  has  called  up  before  us  the  homespun 
figure  of  an  old  friend  of  our  boyhood,  who  had  the 
good  sense  to  discover  that  the  poetic  element  ex- 
isted in  the  simple  home  life  of  a  country  farmer, 
although  himself  unable  to  give  a  very  creditable 
expression  of  it.  He  had  the  "  vision,"  indeed,  but 
the  "faculty  divine"  was  wanting;  or,  if  he  pos- 
sessed it  in  any  degree,  as  Thersites  says  of  the  wit 
of  Ajax,  "  it  would  not  out,  but  lay  coldly  in  him 
like  fire  in  the  flint." 

While  engaged  this  morning  in  looking  over  a 
large  exchange  list  of  newspapers,  a  few  stanzas  of 
poetry  in  the  Scottish  dialect  attracted  our  attention. 
As  we  read  them,  like  a  wizard's  rhyme  they  seemed 
to  have  the  power  of  bearing  us  back  to  the  past. 
They  had  long  ago  graced  the  columns  of  that  soli- 
tary sheet  which  once  a  week  diffused  happiness 
over  our  fireside  circle,  making  us  acquainted,  in 
our  lonely  nook,  with  the  goings-on  of  the  great 
world.  The  verses,  we  are  now  constrained  to  ad- 
mit, are  not  remarkable  in  themselves,  truth  and 
simple  nature  only ;  yet  how  our  young  hearts  re- 
sponded to  them !  Twenty  years  ago  there  were 
fewer  verse-makers  than  at  present ;  and  as  our 
whole  stock  of  light  literature  consisted  of  Ell- 
wood's  Davideis  and  the  selections  of  Lindley 
Murray's  English  Reader,  it  is  not  improbable 
that  we  were  in  a  condition  to  overestimate  the 
contributions  to  the  poet's  corner  of  our  village 
newspaper.  Be  that  as  it  may,  we  welcome  them 
as  we  would  the  face  of  an  old  friend,  for  they  some- 
how remind  us  of  the  scent  of  haymows,  the  breath 
of  cattle,  the  fresh  greenery  by  the  brookside,  the 


250  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

moist  earth  broken  by  the  coulter  and  turned  up  to 
the  sun  and  winds  of  May.  This  particular  piece, 
which  follows,  is  entitled  The  Sparrow,  and  was 
occasioned  by  the  crushing  of  a  bird's-nest  by  the 
author  while  ploughing  among  his  corn.  It  has 
something  of  the  simple  tenderness  of  Burns. 

"  Poor  innocent  and  hapless  Sparrow ! 
Why  should  my  mould-board  gie  thee  sorrow  1 
This  day  thou  '11  chirp  and  mourn  the  morrow 

Wi'  anxious  breast ; 
The  plough  has  turned  the  mould' ring  furrow 

Deep  o'er  thy  nest ! 

"Just  i'  the  middle  o'  the  hill 
Thy  nest  was  placed  wi'  curious  skill ; 
There  I  espied  thy  little  bill 

Beneath  the  shade. 
In  that  sweet  bower,  secure  frae  ill, 

Thine  eggs  were  laid. 

"Five  corns  o'  maize  had  there  been  drappit, 
An'  through  the  stalks  thy  head  was  pappit, 
The  drawing  nowt  could  na  be  stappit 

I  quickly  f  oun'  ; 

Syne  frae  thy  cozie  nest  thou  happit, 
Wild  fluttering  roun'. 

"  The  sklentin  stane  beguiled  the  sheer, 
In  vain  I  tried  the  plough  to  steer ; 
A  wee  bit  stumpie  i'  the  rear 

Cam'  'tween  my  legs, 
An'  to  the  jee-side  gart  me  veer 

An'  crush  thine  eggs. 

"  Alas !  alas !  my  bonnie  birdie ! 
Thy  faithful  mate  flits  round  to  guard  thee. 
Connubial  love !  —  a  pattern  worthy 

The  pious  priest ! 

What  savage  heart  could  be  sae  hardy 
As  wound  thy  breast  ? 


ROBERT  DINSMORE  251 

"  Ah  me  !  it  was  nae  fau't  o'  mine  ; 
It  gars  me  greet  to  see  thee  pine. 
It  may  be  serves  His  great  design 

Who  governs  all ; 
Omniscience  tents  wi'  eyes  divine 

The  Sparrow's  fall ! 

"  How  much  like  thine  are  human  dools, 
Their  sweet  wee  bairns  laid  i'  the  mools  ? 
The  Sovereign  Power  who  nature  rules 

Hath  said  so  be  it ; 
But  poor  blin'  mortals  are  sic  fools 

They  canua  see  it. 

' '  Nae  doubt  that  He  who  first  did  mate  us 
Has  fixed  our  lot  as  sure  as  fate  is, 
An'  when  He  wounds  He  disna  hate  us, 

But  anely  this, 
He  '11  gar  the  ills  which  here  await  us 

Yield  lastin'  bliss." 

In  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century  a 
considerable  number  of  Presbyterians  of  Scotch 
descent,  from  the  north  of  Ireland,  emigrated  to 
the  New  World.  In  the  spring  of  1719,  the  in- 
habitants of  Haverhill,  on  the  Merriiuac,  saw 
them  passing  up  the  river  in  several  canoes,  one 
of  which  unfortunately  upset  in  the  rapids  above 
the  village.  The  following  fragment  of  a  ballad 
celebrating  this  event  has  been  handed  down  to 
the  present  time,  and  may  serve  to  show  the  feel- 
ings even  then  of  the  old  English  settlers  towards 
the  Irish  emigrants  :  — 

"  They  began  to  scream  and  bawl, 

As  out  they  tumbled  one  and  all, 
And,  if  the  Devil  had  spread  his  net, 
He  could  have  made  a  glorious  haul !  " 

The  new-comers  proceeded  up  the  river,  and, 


252  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

landing  opposite  to  the  Uncanoonuc  Hills,  on  the 
present  site  of  Manchester,  proceeded  inland  to 
Beaver  Pond.  Charmed  with  the  appearance  of 
the  country,  they  resolved  here  to  terminate  their 
wanderings.  Under  a  venerable  oak  on  the  margin 
of  the  little  lake,  they  knelt  down  with  their  min- 
ister, Jamie  McGregore,  and  laid,  in  prayer  and 
thanksgiving,  the  foundation  of  their  settlement. 
In  a  few  years  they  had  cleared  large  fields,  built 
substantial  stone  and  frame  dwellings  and  a  large 
and  commodious  meeting-house ;  wealth  had  accu- 
mulated around  them,  and  they  had  everywhere 
the  reputation  of  a  shrewd  and  thriving  community. 
They  were  the  first  in  New  England  to  cultivate 
the  potato,  which  their  neighbors  for  a  long  time 
regarded  as  a  pernicious  root,  altogether  unfit  for 
a  Christian  stomach.  Every  lover  of  that  invalua- 
ble esculent  has  reason  to  remember  with  gratitude 
the  settlers  of  Londonderry. 

Their  moral  acclimation  in  Ireland  had  not  been 
without  its  effect  upon  their  character.  Side  by 
side  with  a  Presbyterianism  as  austere  as  that  of 
John  Knox  had  grown  up  something  of  the  wild 
Milesian  humor,  love  of  convivial  excitement  and 
merry-making.  Their  long  prayers  and  fierce  zeal 
in  behalf  of  orthodox  tenets  only  served,  in  the 
eyes  of  their  Puritan  neighbors,  to  make  more  glar- 
ing still  the  scandal  of  their  marked  social  irregu- 
larities. It  became  a  common  saying  in  the  region 
round  about  that  "  the  Derry  Presbyterians  would 
never  give  up  a  pint  of  doctrine  or  a  pint  of  rum." 
Their  second  minister  was  an  old  scarred  fighter, 
who  had  signalized  himself  in  the  stout  defence 


ROBERT  DIN  SHORE  253 

of  Londonderry,  when  James  II.  and  his  Papists 
were  thundering  at  its  gates.  Agreeably  to  his 
death-bed  directions,  his  old  fellow-soldiers,  in  their 
leathern  doublets  and  battered  steel  caps,  bore  him 
to  his  grave,  firing  over  him  the  same  rusty  mus- 
kets which  had  swept  down  rank  after  rank  of  the 
men  of  Amalek  at  the  Derry  siege. 

Erelong  the  celebrated  Derry  fair  was  estab- 
lished, in  imitation  of  those  with  which  they  had 
been  familiar  in  Ireland.  Thither  annually  came 
all  manner  of  horse- jockeys  and  pedlers,  gentlemen 
and  beggars,  fortune-tellers,  wrestlers,  dancers  and 
fiddlers,  gay  young  farmers  and  buxom  maidens. 
Strong  drink  abounded.  They  who  had  good-nat- 
uredly wrestled  and  joked  together  in  the  morning 
not  unfrequently  closed  the  day  with  a  fight,  until, 
like  the  revellers  of  Donnybrook, 

"  Their  hearts  were  soft  with  whiskey, 
And  their  heads  were  soft  with  blows." 

A  wild,  frolicking,  drinking,  fiddling,  courting, 
horse-racing,  riotous  merry-making,  —  a  sort  of 
Protestant  carnival,  relaxing  the  grimness  of  Puri- 
tanism for  leagues  around  it. 

In  the  midst  of  such  a  community,  and  partak- 
ing of  all  its  influences,  Robert  Dinsmore,  the  au- 
thor of  the  poem  I  have  quoted,  was  born,  about 
the  middle  of  the  last  century.  His  paternal  an- 
cestor, John,  younger  son  of  a  Laird  of  Achen- 
mead,  who  left  the  banks  of  the  Tweed  for  the 
green  fertility  of  Northern  Ireland,  had  emi- 
grated to  New  England  some  forty  years  before, 
and,  after  a  rough  experience  of  Indian  captivity 
in  the  wild  woods  of  Maine,  had  settled  down 


254  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

among  his  old  neighbors  in  Londonderry.  Until 
nine  years  of  age,  Robert  never  saw  a  school.  He 
was  a  short  time  under  the  tuition  of  an  old  British 
soldier,  who  had  strayed  into  the  settlement  after 
the  French  war,  "  at  which  time,"  he  says  in  a  let- 
ter to  a  friend,  "  I  learned  to  repeat  the  shorter 
and  larger  catechisms.  These,  with  the  Scripture 
proofs  annexed  to  them,  confirmed  me  in  the  or- 
thodoxy of  my  forefathers,  and  I  hope  I  shall  ever 
remain  an  evidence  of  the  truth  of  what  the  wise 
man  said,  '  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should 
go,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it.'  " 
He  afterwards  took  lessons  with  one  Master  Mc- 
Keen,  who  used  to  spend  much  of  his  time  in  hunt- 
ing squirrels  with  his  pupils.  He  learned  to  read 
and  write ;  and  the  old  man  always  insisted  that 
he  should  have  done  well  at  ciphering  also,  had  he 
not  fallen  hi  love  with  Molly  Park.  At  the  age  of 
eighteen  he  enlisted  in  the  Revolutionary  army, 
and  was  at  the  battle  of  Saratoga.  On  his  return 
he  married  his  fair  Molly,  settled  down  as  a  farmer 
in  Windham,  formerly  a  part  of  Londonderry,  and 
before  he  was  thirty  years  of  age  became  an  elder 
in  the  church,  of  the  creed  and  observances  of 
which  he  was  always  a  zealous  and  resolute  de- 
fender. From  occasional  passages  in  his  poems,  it 
is  evident  that  the  instructions  which  he  derived 
from  the  pulpit  were  not  unlike  those  which  Burns 
suggested  as  needful  for  the  unlucky  lad  whom  he 
was  commending  to  his  friend  Hamilton  :  — 

"  Ye  '11  catechise  him  ilka  quirk, 
An'  shore  him  weel  wi'  hell." 

In  a  humorous  poem,  entitled  Spring's  Lament^ 


ROBERT  DIN  SHORE  255 

he  thus  describes  the  consternation  produced  in 
the  meeting-house  at  sermon  time  by  a  dog,  who,  in 
search  of  his  mistress,  rattled  and  scraped  at  the 
"  west  porch  door : "  — 

"  The  vera  priest  was  scared  himsel', 
His  sermon  he  could  hardly  spell ; 
Auld  carlins  fancied  they  could  smell 

The  brimstone  matches; 
They  thought  he  was  some  imp  o'  hell, 

In  quest  o'  wretches." 

He  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  a  home-loving,  un- 
pretending farmer,  cultivating  his  acres  with  his 
own  horny  hands,  and  cheering  the  long  rainy  days 
and  winter  evenings  with  homely  rhyme.  Most  of 
his  pieces  were  written  in  the  dialect  of  his  ances- 
tors, which  was  well  understood  by  his  neighbors 
and  friends,  the  only  audience  upon  which  he  could 
venture  to  calculate.  He  loved  all  old  things,  old 
language,  old  customs,  old  theology.  In  a  rhyming 
letter  to  his  cousin  Silas,  he  says :  — 

"  Though  Death  our  ancestors  has  cleekit, 
An'  under  clods  them  closely  steekit, 
We  '11  mark  the  place  their  chimneys  reekit, 
Their  native  tongue  we  yet  wad  speak  it, 
W?  accent  glib:1 

He  wrote  sometimes  to  amuse  his  neighbors, 
often  to  soothe  their  sorrow  under  domestic  calam- 
ity, or  to  give  expression  to  his  own.  With  little 
of  that  delicacy  of  taste  which  results  from  the 
attrition  of  fastidious  and  refined  society,  and  al- 
together too  truthful  and  matter-of-fact  to  call  in 
the  aid  of  imagination,  he  describes  in  the  simplest 
and  most  direct  terms  the  circumstances  in  which 
he  found  himself,  and  the  impressions  which  these 


256  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

circumstances  had  made  on  his  own  mind.  He 
calls  things  by  their  right  names ;  no  euphuism  or 
transcendentalism,  —  the  plainer  and  commoner 
the  better.  He  tells  us  of  his  farm  life,  its  joys 
and  sorrows,  its  mirth  and  care,  with  no  embellish- 
ment, with  no  concealment  of  repulsive  and  un- 
graceful features.  Never  having  seen  a  nightin- 
gale, he  makes  no  attempt  to  describe  the  fowl ; 
but  he  has  seen  the  night-hawk,  at  sunset,  cutting 
the  air  above  him,  and  he  tells  of  it.  Side  by 
side  with  his  waving  corn-fields  and  orchard- 
blooms  we  have  the  barn-yard  and  pigsty.  Noth- 
ing which  was  necessary  to  the  comfort  and  happi- 
ness of  his  home  and  avocation  was  to  him  "  com- 
mon or  unclean."  Take,  for  instance,  the  follow- 
ing, from  a  poem  written  at  the  close  of  autumn, 
after  the  death  of  his  wife :  — 

"  No  more  may  I  the  Spring  Brook  trace, 
No  more  with  sorrow  view  the  place 

Where  Mary's  wash-tub  stood  ; 
No  more  may  wander  there  alone, 
And  lean  upon  the  mossy  stone 

Where  once  she  piled  her  wood. 
'  T  was  there  she  bleached  her  linen  cloth, 

By  yonder  bass-wood  tree ; 
From  that  sweet  stream  she  made  her  broth, 

Her  pudding  and  her  tea. 
That  stream,  whose  waters  running, 

O'er  mossy  root  and  stone, 
Made  ringing  and  singing, 

Her  voice  could  match  alone." 

We  envy  not  the  man  who  can  sneer  at  this 
simple  picture.  It  is  honest  as  Nature  herself.  An 
old  and  lonely  man  looks  back  upon  the  young 
years  of  his  wedded  life.  Can  we  not  look  with 


ROBERT  DIN  SHORE  257 

him  ?  The  sunlight  of  a  summer  morning  is  weav- 
ing itself  with  the  leafy  shadows  of  the  bass-tree, 
beneath  which  a  fair  and  ruddy-cheeked  young 
woman,  with  her  full,  rounded  arms  bared  to  the 
elbow,  bends  not  ungracefully  to  her  task,  pausing 
ever  and  anon  to  play  with  the  bright-eyed  child 
beside  her,  and  mingling  her  songs  with  the  pleas- 
ant murmurings  of  gliding  water !  Alas  !  as  the 
old  man  looks,  he  hears  that  voice,  which  perpetu- 
ally sounds  to  us  all  from  the  past  —  no  more  ! 

Let  us  look  at  him  in  his  more  genial  mood. 
Take  the  opening  lines  of  his  Thanksgiving  Day. 
What  a  plain,  hearty  picture  of  substantial  com- 
fort! 

"  When  corn  is  in  the  garret  stored, 
And  sauce  in  cellar  well  secured ; 
When  good  fat  beef  we  can  afford, 

And  things  that  're  dainty, 
With  good  sweet  cider  on  our  board, 

And  pudding  plenty ; 

"  When  stock,  well  housed,  may  chew  the  cud, 
And  at  my  door  a  pile  of  wood, 
A  rousing  fire  to  warm  my  blood, 

Blest  sight  to  see ! 
It  puts  my  rustic  muse  in  mood 

To  sing  for  thee." 

If  he  needs  a  simile,  he  takes  the  nearest  at 
hand.  In  a  letter  to  his  daughter  he  says :  — 

"  That  mine  is  not  a  longer  letter, 
The  cause  is  not  the  want  of  matter,  — 
Of  that  there  's  plenty,  worse  or  better; 

But  like  a  mill 

Whose  stream  beats  back  with  surplus  water, 
The  wheel  stands  still." 

Something  of  the  humor  of  Burns  gleams  out 


258  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

occasionally  from  the  sober  decorum  of  his  verses. 
In  an  epistle  to  his  friend  Betton,  high  sheriff  of 
the  county,  who  had  sent  to  him  for  a  peck  of  seed- 
corn,  he  says :  — 

"  Soon  plantin'  time  will  come  again, 
Syne  may  the  heavens  gie  us  rain, 
An'  shining  heat  to  bless  ilk  plain 

An'  fertile  hill, 

An'  gar  the  loads  o'  yellow  grain, 
Our  garrets  fill. 

"  As  long  as  I  hae  food  and  clothing, 
An'  still  am  hale  and  fier  and  breathing, 
Ye  's  get  the  corn  —  and  may  be  aething 

Ye  '11  do  for  me  ; 
(Though  God  forbid)  —  hang  me  for  naething 

An'  lose  your  fee." 

And  on  receiving  a  copy  of  some  verses  written  by 
a  lady,  he  talks  in  a  sad  way  for  a  Presbyterian 
deacon :  — 

"  Were  she  some  Aborigine  squaw, 
Wha  sings  so  sweet  by  nature's  law, 
I  'd  meet  her  in  a  hazle  shaw, 

Or  some  green  loany, 
And  make  her  tawny  phiz  and  'a 

My  welcome  crony." 

The  practical  philosophy  of  the  stout,  jovial 
rhymer  was  but  little  affected  by  the  sour-featured 
asceticism  of  the  elder.  He  says  :  — 

"  We  '11  eat  and  drink,  and  cheerful  take 
Our  portions  for  the  Donor's  sake, 
For  thus  the  Word  of  Wisdom  spake  — 

Man  can't  do  better ; 
Nor  can  we  by  our  labors  make 

The  Lord  our  debtor." 

A  quaintly  characteristic  correspondence  in 
rhyme  between  the  Deacon  and  Parson  McGregore, 


ROBERT  DIN  SHORE  259 

evidently  "  birds  o'  ane  feather,"  is  still  in  exist- 
ence. The  minister,  in  acknowledging  the  epistle 
of  his  old  friend,  commences  his  reply  as  follows  :  — 

"  Did  e'er  a  cuif  tak'  up  a  quill, 
Wha  ne'er  did  aught  that  he  did  well, 
To  gar  the  muses  rant  and  reel, 

An'  flaunt  and  swagger, 
Nae  doubt  ye  '11  say  't  is  that  daft  chiel 

Old  Dite  McGregore  !  " 

The  reply  is  in  the  same  strain,  and  may  serve 
to  give  the  reader  some  idea  of  the  old  gentleman 
as  a  religious  controversialist :  — 

"  My  reverend  friend  and  kind  McGregore, 
Although  thou  ne'er  was  ca'd  a  hragger, 
Thy  muse  I  'm  sure  nane  e'er  was  glegger  — 

Thy  Scottish  lays 
Might  gar  Socinians  fa'  or  stagger, 
E'en  in  their  ways. 

' '  When  Unitarian  champions  dare  thee, 
Goliah  like,  and  think  to  scare  thee, 
Dear  Davie,  fear  not,  they  '11  ne'er  waur  thee  ; 

But  draw  thy  sling, 
Weel  loaded  frae  the  Gospel  quarry, 

An'  gie  't  a  fling." 

The  last  time  I  saw  him,  he  was  chaffering  in  the 
market-place  of  my  native  village,  swapping  pota- 
toes and  onions  and  pumpkins  for  tea,  coffee,  mo- 
lasses, and,  if  the  truth  be  told,  New  England  rum. 
Threescore  years  and  ten,  to  use  his  own  words, 

"  Hung  o'er  his  back, 
And  bent  him  like  a  muckle  pack," 

yet  he  still  stood  stoutly  and  sturdily  in  his  thick 
shoes  of  cowhide,  like  one  accustomed  to  tread  in- 
dependently the  soil  of  his  own  acres,  —  his  broad, 
honest  face  seamed  by  care  and  darkened  by  ex- 


260  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

posure  to  "  all  the  airts  that  blow,"  and  his  white 
hair  flowing  in  patriarchal  glory  beneath  his  felt 
hat.  A  genial,  jovial,  large-hearted  old  man,  sim- 
ple as  a  child,  and  betraying,  neither  in  look  nor 
manner,  that  he  was  accustomed  to 

"  Feed  on  thoughts  which  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers." 

Peace  to  him  !  A  score  of  modern  dandies  and 
sentimentalists  could  ill  supply  the  place  of  this 
one  honest  man.  In  the  ancient  burial-ground  of 
Windham,  by  the  side  of  his  "  beloved  Molly," 
and  in  view  of  the  old  meeting-house,  there  is  a 
mound  of  earth,  where,  every  spring,  green  grasses 
tremble  in  the  wind  and  the  warm  sunshine  calls 
out  the  flowers.  There,  gathered  like  one  of  his 
own  ripe  sheaves,  the  farmer  poet  sleeps  with  his 
fathers. 


PLACIDO,  THE  SLAVE  POET. 

[1845.] 

I  HAVE  been  greatly  interested  in  the  fate  of 
Juan  Placido,  the  black  revolutionist  of  Cuba,  who 
was  executed  in  Havana,  as  the  alleged  instigator 
and  leader  of  an  attempted  revolt  on  the  part  of 
the  slaves  in  that  city  and  its  neighborhood. 

Juan  Placido  was  born  a  slave  on  the  estate  of 
Don  Terribio  de  Castro.  His  father  was  an  Afri- 
can, his  mother  a  mulatto.  His  mistress  treated 
him  with  great  kindness,  and  taught  him  to  read. 
When  he  was  twelve  years  of  age  she  died,  and  he 
fell  into  other  and  less  compassionate  hands.  At 
the  age  of  eighteen,  on  seeing  his  mother  struck 
with  a  heavy  whip,  he  for  the  first  time  turned 
upon  his  tormentors.  To  use  his  own  words,  "  I 
felt  the  blow  in  my  heart.  To  utter  a  loud  cry, 
and  from  a  downcast  boy,  with  the  timidity  of  one 
weak  as  a  lamb,  to  become  all  at  once  like  a  raging 
lion,  was  a  thing  of  a  moment."  He  was,  however, 
subdued,  and  the  next  morning,  together  with  his 
mother,  a  tenderly  nurtured  and  delicate  woman, 
severely  scourged.  On  seeing  his  mother  rudely 
stripped  and  thrown  down  upon  the  ground,  he  at 
first  with  tears  implored  the  overseer  to  spare  her ; 
but  at  the  sound  of  the  first  blow,  as  it  cut  into  her 
naked  flesh,  he  sprang  once  more  upon  the  ruffian, 


262  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

who,  having  superior  strength,  beat  him  until  he 
was  nearer  dead  than  alive. 

After  suffering  all  the  vicissitudes  of  slavery,  — 
hunger,  nakedness,  stripes;  after  bravely  and 
nobly  bearing  up  against  that  slow,  dreadful  pro- 
cess which  reduces  the  man  to  a  thing,  the  image 
of  God  to  a  piece  of  merchandise,  until  he  had 
reached  his  thirty-eighth  year,  he  was  unexpectedly 
released  from  his  bonds.  Some  literary  gentlemen 
in  Havana,  into  whose  hands  two  or  three  pieces 
of  his  composition  had  fallen,  struck  with  the  vigor, 
spirit,  and  natural  grace  which  they  manifested, 
sought  out  the  author,  and  raised  a  subscription  to 
purchase  his  freedom.  He  came  to  Havana,  and 
maintained  himself  by  house-painting,  and  such 
other  employments  as  his  ingenuity  and  talents 
placed  within  his  reach.  He  wrote  several  poems, 
which  have  been  published  in  Spanish  at  Havana, 
and  translated  by  Dr.  Madden,  under  the  title  of 
Poems  by  a  Slave. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  these  poems  that 
they  will  bear  a  comparison  with  most  of  the  pro- 
ductions of  modern  Spanish  literature.  The  style 
is  bold,  free,  energetic.  Some  of  the  pieces  are 
sportive  and  graceful ;  such  is  the  address  to  The 
Cucuya,  or  Cuban  firefly.  This  beautiful  insect 
is  sometimes  fastened  in  tiny  nets  to  the  light 
dresses  of  the  Cuban  ladies,  a  custom  to  which  the 
writer  gallantly  alludes  in  the  following  lines  :  — 

"  Ah !  — still  as  one  looks  on  such  brightness  and  bloom, 
On  such  beauty  as  hers,  one  might  envy  the  doom 
Of  a  captive  Cucnya  that 's  destined,  like  this, 
To  be  touched  by  her  hand  and  revived  by  her  kiss ! 


PLACIDO,    THE  SLAVE  POET          263 

In  the  cage  which  her  delicate  hand  has  prepared, 

The  beautiful  prisoner  nestles  unscared, 

O'er  her  fair  forehead  shining  serenely  and  bright, 

In  beauty's  own  bondage  revealing  its  light ! 

And  when  the  light  dance  and  the  revel  are  done, 

She  bears  it  away  to  her  alcove  alone, 

Where,  fed  by  her  hand  from  the  cane  that 's  most  choice, 

In  secret  it  gleams  at  the  sound  of  her  voice ! 

O  beautiful  maiden  !  may  Heaven  accord 

Thy  care  of  the  captive  a  fitting  reward, 

And  never  may  fortune  the  fetters  remove 

Of  a  heart  that  is  thine  in  the  bondage  of  love  !  " 

In  his  Dream,  a  fragment  of  some  length,  Pla- 
cido  dwells  in  a  touching  manner  upon  the  scenes 
of  his  early  years.  It  is  addressed  to  his  brother 
Florence,  who  was  a  slave  near  Matanzas,  while 
the  author  was  in  the  same  condition  at  Havana. 
There  is  a  plaintive  and  melancholy  sweetness  in 
these  lines,  a  natural  pathos,  which  finds  its  way 
to  the  heart :  — 

"  Thou  knowest,  dear  Florence,  my  sufferings  of  old, 
•  The  struggles  maintained  with  oppression  for  years  ; 
We  shared  them  together,  and  each  was  consoled 

With  the  love  which  was  nurtured  by  sorrow  and  tears. 

"But  now  far  apart,  the  sad  pleasure  is  gone, 

We  mingle  our  sighs  and  our  sorrows  no  more  ; 
The  course  is  a  new  one  which  each  has  to  run, 
And  dreary  for  each  is  the  pathway  before. 

"  But  in  slumber  our  spirits  at  least  shall  commune, 

We  will  meet  as  of  old  in  the  visions  of  sleep, 
In  dreams  which  call  back  early  days,  when  at  noon 
We  stole  to  the  shade  of  the  palm-tree  to  weep ! 

"For  solitude  pining,  in  anguish  of  late 

The  heights  of  Quintana  I  sought  for  repose ; 

And  there,  in  the  cool  and  the  silence,  the  weight 

Of  my  cares  was  forgotten,  I  felt  not  my  woes. 


264  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

"Exhausted  and  weary,  the  spell  of  the  place 

Sank  down  on  my  eyelids,  and  soft  slumber  stole 
So  sweetly  upon  me,  it  left  not  a  trace 

Of  sorrow  o'ercasting  the  light  of  the  soul." 

The  writer  then  imagines  himself  borne  lightly 
through  the  air  to  the  place  of  his  birth.  The 
valley  of  Matanzas  lies  beneath  him,  hallowed  by 
the  graves  of  his  parents.  He  proceeds  :  — 

"  I  gazed  on  that  spot  where  together  we  played, 

Our  innocent  pastimes  came  fresh  to  my  mind, 
Our  mother's  caress,  and  the  fondness  displayed 
In  each  word  and  each  look  of  a  parent  so  kind. 

"  I  looked  on  the  mountain,  whose  fastnesses  wild 
The  fugitives  seek  from  the  rifle  and  hound ; 
Below  were  the  fields  where  they  suffered  and  toiled, 
And  there  the  low  graves  of  their  comrades  are  found. 

"  The  mill-house  was  there,  and  the  turmoil  of  old ; 

But  sick  of  these  scenes,  for  too  well  were  they  known, 
I  looked  for  the  stream  where  in  childhood  I  strolled 
When  a  moment  of  quiet  and  peace  was  my  own. 

"  With  mingled  emotions  of  pleasure  and  pain, 

Dear  Florence,  I  sighed  to  behold  thee  once  more ; 
I  sought  thee,  my  brother,  embraced  thee  again, 
But  I  found  thee  a  slave  as  I  left  thee  before ! ' ' 

Some  of  his  devotional  pieces  evince  the  fer- 
vor and  true  feeling  of  the  Christian  poet.  His 
Ode  to  Religion  contains  many  admirable  lines. 
Speaking  of  the  martyrs  of  the  early  days  of  Chris- 
tianity, he  says  finely  :  — 

"  Still  in  that  cradle,  purpled  with  their  blood, 
The  infant  Faith  waxed  stronger  day  by  day." 

I  cannot  forbear  quoting  the  last  stanza  of  this 
poem :  — 


PLACIDO,    THE   SLAVE  POET          265 

"  0  God  of  mercy,  throned  in  glory  high, 

On  earth  and  all  its  misery  look  down : 
Behold  the  wretched,  hear  the  captive's  cry, 

And  call  Thy  exiled  children  round  Thy  throne ! 
There  would  I  fain  in  contemplation  gaze 

On  Thy  eternal  beauty,  and  would  make 
Of  love  one  lasting  canticle  of  praise, 

And  every  theme  but  Thee  henceforth  forsake !  " 

His  best  and  noblest  production  is  an  ode  To 
Cuba,  written  on  the  occasion  of  Dr.  Madden's 
departure  from  the  island,  and  presented  to  that 
gentleman.  It  was  never  published  in  Cuba,  as  its 
sentiments  would  have  subjected  the  author  to  per- 
secution. It  breathes  a  lofty  spirit  of  patriotism, 
and  an  indignant  sense  of  the  wrongs  inflicted 
upon  his  race.  Withal,  it  has  something  of  the 
grandeur  and  stateliness  of  the  old  Spanish  muse. 

"  Cuba !  —  of  what  avail  that  thou  art  fair, 

Pearl  of  the  Seas,  the  pride  of  the  Antilles, 
If  thy  poor  sons  have  still  to  see  thee  share 

The  pangs  of  bondage  and  its  thousand  ills  ? 

Of  what  avail  the  verdure  of  thy  hills, 
The  purple  bloom  thy  coffee-plain  displays ; 

The  cane's  luxuriant  growth,  whose  culture  fills 
More  graves  than  famine,  or  the  sword  finds  ways 
To  glut  with  victims  calmly  as  it  slays  ? 

"  Of  what  avail  that  thy  clear  streams  abound 

With  precious  ore,  if  wealth  there 's  none  to  buy 
Thy  children's  rights,  and  not  one  grain  is  found 

For  Learning's  shrine,  or  for  the  altar  nigh 

Of  poor,  forsaken,  downcast  Liberty  ? 
Of  what  avail  the  riches  of  thy  port, 

Forests  of  masts  and  ships  from  every  sea, 
If  Trade  alone  is  free,  and  man,  the  sport 
And  spoil  of  Trade,  bears  wrongs  of  every  sort  ? 

"  Cuba !  0  Cuba !  —  when  men  call  thee  fair, 
And  rich,  and  beautiful,  the  Queen  of  Isles, 


266  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

Star  of  the  West,  and  Ocean's  gem  most  rare, 
Oh,  say  to  those  -who  mock  thee  -with  such  -wiles : 
Take  off  these  flowers ;  and  view  the  lifeless  spoils 

Which  wait  the  worm ;  behold  their  hues  beneath 
The  pale,  cold  cheek ;  and  seek  for  living  smiles 

Where  Beauty  lies  not  in  the  arms  of  Death, 

And  Bondage  taints  not  with  its  poison  breath !  " 

The  disastrous  result  of  the  last  rising  of  the 
slaves  in  Cuba  is  well  known.  Betrayed,  and 
driven  into  premature  collision  with  their  oppres- 
sors, the  insurrectionists  were  speedily  crushed  into 
subjection.  Placido  was  arrested,  and  after  a  long 
hearing  was  condemned  to  be  executed,  and  con- 
signed to  the  Chapel  of  the  Condemned. 

How  far  he  was  implicated  in  the  insurrectionary 
movement  it  is  now  perhaps  impossible  to  ascer- 
tain. The  popular  voice  at  Havana  pronounced 
him  its  leader  and  projector,  and  as  such  he  was 
condemned.  His  own  bitter  wrongs ;  the  terrible 
recollections  of  his  life  of  servitude ;  the  sad  con- 
dition of  his  relatives  and  race,  exposed  to  scorn, 
contumely,  and  the  heavy  hand  of  violence ;  the 
impunity  with  which  the  most  dreadful  outrages 
upon  the  persons  of  slaves  were  inflicted,  —  acting 
upon  a  mind  fully  capable  of  appreciating  the 
beauty  and  dignity  of  freedom,  —  furnished  abun- 
dant incentives  to  an  effort  for  the  redemption  of 
his  race  and  the  humiliation  of  his  oppressors. 
The  Heraldo,  of  Madrid  speaks  of  him  as  "the 
celebrated  poet,  a  man  of  great  natural  genius,  and 
beloved  and  appreciated  by  the  most  respectable 
young  men  of  Havana."  It  accuses  him  of  wild 
and  ambitious  projects,  and  states  that  he  was  in- 
tended to  be  the  chief  of  the  black  race  after  they 
had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of  bondage. 


PLACIDO,    THE  SLAVE  POET          267 

He  was  executed  at  Havana  in  the  seventh 
month,  1844.  According  to  the  custom  in  Cuba 
with  condemned  criminals,  he  was  conducted  from 
prison  to  the  Chapel  of  the  Doomed.  He  passed 
thither  with  singular  composure,  amidst  a  great 
concourse  of  people,  gracefully  saluting  his  numer- 
ous acquaintances.  The  chapel  was  hung  with 
black  cloth,  and  dimly  lighted.  He  was  seated  be- 
side his  coffin.  Priests  in  long  black  robes  stood 
around  him,  chanting  in  sepulchral  voices  the  ser- 
vice of  the  dead.  It  is  an  ordeal  under  which  the 
stoutest-hearted  and  most  resolute  have  been  found 
to  sink.  After  enduring  it  for  twenty-four  hours 
he  was  led  out  to  execution.  He  came  forth  calm 
and  undismayed;  holding  a  crucifix  in  his  hand, 
he  recited  in  a  loud,  clear  voice  a  solemn  prayer  in 
verse,  which  he  had  composed  amidst  the  horrors 
of  the  Chapel.  The  following  is  an  imperfect 
rendering  of  a  poem  which  thrilled  the  hearts  of 
all  who  heard  it :  — 

' '  God  of  unbounded  love  and  power  eternal, 
To  Thee  I  turn  in  darkness  and  despair ! 
Stretch  forth  Thine  arm,  and  from  the  brow  infernal 

Of  Calumny  the  veil  of  Justice  tear ; 
And  from  the  forehead  of  my  honest  fame 
Pluck  the  world's  brand  of  infamy  and  shame ! 

"  O  King  of  kings !  —  my  fathers'  God !  — who  only 

Art  strong  to  save,  by  whom  is  all  controlled, 
Who  givest  the  sea  its  waves,  the  dark  and  lonely 

Abyss  of  heaven  its  light,  the  North  its  cold, 
The  air  its  currents,  the  warm  sun  its  beams, 
Life  to  the  flowers,  and  motion  to  the  streams ! 

"  All  things  obey  Thee,  dying  or  reviving 

As  thou  commandest ;  all,  apart  from  Thee, 


268  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES 

From  Thee  alone  their  life  and  power  deriving, 

Sink  and  are  lost  in  vast  eternity ! 
Yet  doth  the  void  obey  Thee ;  since  from  naught 
This  marvellous  being  by  Thy  hand  was  wrought. 

"  O  merciful  God  !   I  cannot  shun  Thy  presence, 
For  through  its  veil  of  flesh  Thy  piercing  eye 

Looketh  upon  my  spirit's  unsoiled  essence, 
As  through  the  pure  transparence  of  the  sky ; 

Let  not  the  oppressor  clap  his  bloody  hands, 

As  o'er  my  prostrate  innocence  he  stands! 

"  But  if,  alas,  it  seemeth  good  to  Thee 

That  I  should  perish  as  the  guilty  dies, 
And  that  in  death  my  foes  should  gaze  on  me 

With  hateful  malice  and  exulting  eyes, 
Speak  Thou  the  word,  and  bid  them  shed  my  blood, 
Fully  in  me  Thy  will  be  done,  0  God !  " 

On  arriving  at  the  fatal  spot,  he  sat  down  as  or- 
dered, on  a  bench,  with  his  back  to  the  soldiers. 
The  multitude  recollected  that  in  some  affecting 
lines,  written  by  the  conspirator  in  prison,  he  had 
said  that  it  would  be  useless  to  seek  to  kill  him  by 
shooting  his  body,  —  that  his  heart  must  be  pierced 
ere  it  would  cease  its  throbbings.  At  the  last  mo- 
ment, just  as  the  soldiers  were  about  to  fire,  he  rose 
up  and  gazed  for  an  instant  around  and  above  him : 
on  the  beautiful  capital  of  his  native  land  and  its 
sail-flecked  bay,  on  the  dense  crowds  about  him, 
the  blue  mountains  in  the  distance,  and  the  sky 
glorious  with  summer  sunshine.  "  Adios,  mundo ! " 
(Farewell,  world !)  he  said  calmly,  and  sat  down. 
The  word  was  given,  and  five  balls  entered  his 
body.  Then  it  was  that,  amidst  the  groans  and 
murmurs  of  the  horror-stricken  spectators,  he  rose 
up  once  more,  and  turned  his  head  to  the  shudder- 
ing soldiers,  his  face  wearing  an  expression  of  su- 


PLAC1DO,   THE  SLAVE  POET          269 

perhuman  courage.  "  Will  no  one  pity  me  ?  "  he 
said,  laying  his  hand  over  his  heart.  "  Here,  fire 
here !  "  While  he  yet  spake,  two  balls  entered  his 
heart,  and  he  fell  dead. 

Thus  perished  the  hero  poet  of  Cuba.  He  has 
not  fallen  in  vain.  His  genius  and  his  heroic 
death  will  doubtless  be  regarded  by  his  race  as 
precious  legacies.  To  the  great  names  of  L'Ou- 
verture  and  Petion  the  colored  man  can  now  add 
that  of  Juan  Placido. 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND 
TRIBUTES 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  TORREY. 

Charles  T.  Torrey,  an  able  young  Congregational  clergyman, 
died  May  9,  1846,  in  the  state's  prison  of  Maryland,  for  the 
offence  of  aiding  slaves  to  escape  from  bondage.  His  funeral  in 
Boston,  attended  by  thousands,  was  a  most  impressive  occasion. 
The  following  is  an  extract  from  an  article  written  for  the  Essex 
Transcript :  — 

SOME  seven  years  ago,  we  saw  Charles  T.  Torrey 
for  the  first  time.  His  wife  was  leaning  on  his  arm, 
—  young,  loving,  and  beautiful ;  the  heart  that  saw 
them  blessed  them.  Since  that  time,  we  have  known 
him  as  a  most  energetic  and  zealous  advocate  of  the 
anti-slavery  cause.  He  had  fine  talents,  improved 
by  learning  and  observation,  a  clear,  intensely  ac- 
tive intellect,  and  a  heart  full  of  sympathy  and 
genial  humanity.  It  was  with  strange  and  bitter 
feelings  that  we  bent  over  his  coffin  and  looked 
upon  his  still  face.  The  pity  which  we  had  felt 
for  him  in  his  long  sufferings  gave  place  to  indigna- 
tion against  his  murderers.  Hateful  beyond  the 
power  of  expression  seemed  the  tyranny  which  had 
murdered  him  with  the  slow  torture  of  the  dungeon. 
May  God  forgive  us,  if  for  the  moment  we  felt  like 
grasping  His  dread  prerogative  of  vengeance.  As 


272     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

we  passed  out  of  the  hall,  a  friend  grasped  our 
hand  hard,  his  eye  flashing  through  its  tears,  with 
a  stern  reflection  of  our  own  emotions,  while  he 
whispered  through  his  pressed  lips :  "  It  is  enough 
to  turn  every  anti-slavery  heart  into  steel."  Our 
blood  boiled ;  we  longed  to  see  the  wicked  apolo- 
gists of  slavery  —  the  blasphemous  defenders  of  it 
in  Church  and  State  —  led  up  to  the  coffin  of  our 
murdered  brother,  and  there  made  to  feel  that  their 
hands  had  aided  in  riveting  the  chain  upon  those 
still  limbs,  and  in  shutting  out  from  those  cold  lips 
the  free  breath  of  heaven. 

A  long  procession  followed  his  remains  to  their 
resting-place  at  Mount  Auburn.  A  monument  to 
his  memory  will  be  raised  in  that  cemetery,  in  the 
midst  of  the  green  beauty  of  the  scenery  which  he 
loved  in  life,  and  side  by  side  with  the  honored 
dead  of  Massachusetts.  Thither  let  the  friends 
of  humanity  go  to  gather  fresh  strength  from  the 
memory  of  the  martyr.  There  let  the  slaveholder 
stand,  and  as  he  reads  the  record  of  the  enduring 
marble  commune  with  his  own  heart,  and  feel  that 
sorrow  which  worketh  repentance. 

The  young,  the  beautiful,  the  brave  !  —  he  is  safe 
now  from  the  malice  of  his  enemies.  Nothing  can 
harm  him  more.  His  work  for  the  poor  and  help- 
less was  well  and  nobly  done.  In  the  wild  woods 
of  Canada,  around  many  a  happy  fireside  and  holy 
family  altar,  his  name  is  on  the  lips  of  God's  poor. 
He  put  his  soul  in  their  souls'  stead  ;  he  gave  his 
life  for  those  who  had  no  claim  on  his  love  save 
that  of  human  brotherhood.  How  poor,  how  piti- 
ful and  paltry,  seem  our  labors!  How  small  and 


THE  FUNERAL   OF  TORRE Y  273 

mean  our  trials  and  sacrifices  !  May  the  spirit  of 
the  dead  be  with  us,  and  infuse  into  our  hearts 
something  of  his  own  deep  sympathy,  his  hatred  of 
injustice,  his  strong  faith  and  heroic  endurance. 
May  that  spirit  be  gladdened  in  its  present  sphere 
by  the  increased  zeal  and  faithfulness  of  the  friends 
he  has  left  behind. 


EDWARD  EVERETT. 

A  letter  to  Robert  C.  Waterston. 

AMESBURY,  27th  1st  Month,  1865. 

I  ACKNOWLEDGE  through  thee  the  invitation  of 
the  standing  committee  of  the  Massachusetts  His- 
torical Society  to  be  present  at  a  special  meeting 
of  the  Society  for  the  purpose  of  paying  a  tribute 
to  the  memory  of  our  late  illustrious  associate, 
Edward  Everett. 

It  is  a  matter  of  deep  regret  to  me  that  the  state 
of  my  health  will  not  permit  me  to  be  with  you  on 
an  occasion  of  so  much  interest. 

It  is  most  fitting  that  the  members  of  the  His- 
torical Society  of  Massachusetts  should  add  their 
tribute  to  those  which  have  been  already  offered 
by  all  sects,  parties,  and  associations  to  the  name 
and  fame  of  their  late  associate.  He  was  himself 
a  maker  of  history,  and  part  and  parcel  of  all  the 
noble  charities  and  humanizing  influences  of  his 
State  and  time. 

When  the  grave  closed  over  him  who  added 
new  lustre  to  the  old  and  honored  name  of  Quincy, 
all  eyes  instinctively  turned  to  Edward  Everett  as 
the  last  of  that  venerated  class  of  patriotic  civil- 
ians who,  outliving  all  dissent  and  jealousy  and 
party  prejudice,  held  their  reputation  by  the  secure 
tenure  of  the  universal  appreciation  of  its  worth  as 


EDWARD  EVERETT  275 

a  common  treasure  of  the  republic.  It  is  not  for 
me  to  pronounce  his  eulogy.  Others,  better  quali- 
fied by  their  intimate  acquaintance  with  him,  have 
done  and  will  do  justice  to  his  learning,  eloquence, 
varied  culture,  and  social  virtues.  My  secluded 
country  life  has  afforded  me  few  opportunities  of 
personal  intercourse  with  him,  while  my  pronounced 
radicalism  on  the  great  question  which  has  divided 
popular  feeling  rendered  our  political  paths  widely 
divergent.  Both  of  us  early  saw  the  danger  which 
threatened  the  country.  In  the  language  of  the 
prophet,  we  "  saw  the  sword  coming  upon  the  land," 
but  while  he  believed  in  the  possibility  of  averting 
it  by  concession  and  compromise,  I,  on  the  contrary, 
as  firmly  believed  that  such  a  course  could  only 
strengthen  and  confirm  what  I  regarded  as  a  gi- 
gantic conspiracy  against  the  rights  and  liberties, 
the  union  and  the  life,  of  the  nation. 

Eecent  events  have  certainly  not  tended  to 
change  this  belief  on  my  part ;  but  in  looking  over 
the  past,  while  I  see  little  or  nothing  to  retract  in 
the  matter  of  opinion,  I  am  saddened  by  the  re- 
flection that  through  the  very  intensity  of  my  con- 
victions I  may  have  done  injustice  to  the  motives  of 
those  with  whom  I  differed.  As  respects  Edward 
Everett,  it  seems  to  me  that  only  within  the  last 
four  years  I  have  truly  known  him. 

In  that  brief  period,  crowded  as  it  is  with  a 
whole  life-work  of  consecration  to  the  union,  free- 
dom, and  glory  of  his  country,  he  not  only  com- 
manded respect  and  reverence,  but  concentrated 
upon  himself  in  a  most  remarkable  degree  the  love 
of  all  loyal  and  generous  hearts.  We  have  seen, 


276     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

in  these  years  of  trial,  very  great  sacrifices  offered 
upon  the  altar  of  patriotism,  —  wealth,  ease,  home- 
love,  life  itself.  But  Edward  Everett  did  more 
than  this :  he  laid  on  that  altar  not  only  his  time, 
talents,  and  culture,  but  his  pride  of  opinion,  his 
long-cherished  views  of  policy,  his  personal  and 
political  predilections  and  prejudices,  his  constitu- 
tional fastidiousness  of  conservatism,  and  the  care- 
fully elaborated  symmetry  of  his  public  reputation. 
With  a  rare  and  noble  magnanimity,  he  met,  with- 
out hesitation,  the  demand  of  the  great  occasion. 
Breaking  away  from  all  the  besetments  of  custom 
and  association,  he  forgot  the  things  that  are  be- 
hind, and,  with  an  eye  single  to  present  duty, 
pressed  forward  towards  the  mark  of  the  high  call- 
ing of  Divine  Providence  in  the  events  of  our  time. 
All  honor  to  him !  If  we  mourn  that  he  is  now 
beyond  the  reach  of  our  poor  human  praise,  let  us 
reverently  trust  that  he  has  received  that  higher 
plaudit :  "  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  ser- 
vant !  " 

When  I  last  met  him,  as  my  colleague  in  the 
Electoral  College  of  Massachusetts,  his  look  of 
health  and  vigor  seemed  to  promise  us  many  years 
of  his  wisdom  and  usefulness.  On  greeting  him  I 
felt  impelled  to  express  my  admiration  and  grate- 
ful appreciation  of  his  patriotic  labors ;  and  I  shall 
never  forget  how  readily  and  gracefully  he  turned 
attention  from  himself  to  the  great  cause  in  which 
we  had  a  common  interest,  and  expressed  his  thank- 
fulness that  he  had  still  a  country  to  serve. 

To  keep  green  the  memory  of  such  a  man  is  at 
once  a  privilege  and  a  duty.  That  stainless  life  of 


EDWARD  EVERETT  277 

seventy  years  is  a  priceless  legacy.  His  hands  were 
pure.  The  shadow  of  suspicion  never  fell  on  him. 
If  he  erred  in  his  opinions  (and  that  he  did  so  he 
had  the  Christian  grace  and  courage  to  own),  no 
selfish  interest  weighed  in  the  scale  of  his  judgment 
against  truth. 

As  our  thoughts  follow  him  to  his  last  resting- 
place,  we  are  sadly  reminded  of  his  own  touching 
lines,  written  many  years  ago  at  Florence.  The 
name  he  has  left  behind  is  none  the  less  "  pure  " 
that  instead  of  being  "  humble,"  as  he  then  antici- 
pated, it  is  on  the  lips  of  grateful  millions,  and 
written  ineffaceable  on  the  record  of  his  country's 
trial  and  triumph :  — 

"  Yet  not  for  me  when  I  shall  fall  asleep 
Shall  Santa  Croce's  lamps  their  vigils  keep. 
Beyond  the  main  in  Auburn's  quiet  shade, 
With  those  I  loved  and  love  my  couch  be  made  ; 
Spring's  pendant  branches  o'er  the  hillock  wave, 
And  morning's  dewdrops  glisten  on  my  grave, 
While  Heaven's  great  arch  shall  rise  above  my  bed, 
When  Santa  Croce's  crumbles  on  her  dead,  — 
Unknown  to  erring  or  to  suffering  fame, 
So  may  I  leave  a  pure  though  humble  name." 

Congratulating  the  Society  on  the  prospect  of 
the  speedy  consummation  of  the  great  objects  of 
our  associate's  labors,  —  the  peace  and  permanent 
union  of  our  country,  — 

I  am  very  truly  thy  friend. 


LEWIS  TAPPAN. 

[1873.] 

ONE  after  another,  those  foremost  in  the  anti- 
slavery  conflict  of  the  last  half  century  are  rapidly 
passing  away.  The  grave  has  just  closed  over  all 
that  was  mortal  of  Salmon  P.  Chase,  the  kingliest 
of  men,  a  statesman  second  to  no  other  in  our 
history,  too  great  and  pure  for  the  Presidency,  yet 
leaving  behind  him  a  record  which  any  incumbent 
of  that  station  might  envy,  —  and  now  the  tele- 
graph brings  us  the  tidings  of  the  death  of  Lewis 
Tappan,  of  Brooklyn,  so  long  and  so  honorably 
identified  with  the  anti-slavery  cause,  and  with 
every  philanthropic  and  Christian  enterprise.  He 
was  a  native  of  Massachusetts,  born  at  Northamp- 
ton in  1788,  of  Puritan  lineage,  —  one  of  a  fam- 
ily remarkable  for  integrity,  decision  of  character, 
and  intellectual  ability.  At  the  very  outset,  in 
company  with  his  brother  Arthur,  he  devoted  his 
time,  talents,  wealth,  and  social  position  to  the 
righteous  but  unpopular  cause  of  Emancipation, 
and  became,  in  consequence,  a  mark  for  the  perse- 
cution which  followed  such  devotion.  His  business 
was  crippled,  his  name  cast  out  as  evil,  his  dwelling 
sacked,  and  his  furniture  dragged  into  the  street 
and  burned.  Yet  he  never,  in  the  darkest  hour, 
faltered  or  hesitated  for  a  moment.  He  knew  he 


LEWIS   TAPPAN  279 

was  right,  and  that  the  end  would  justify  him ; 
one  of  the  cheerf  ullest  of  men,  he  was  strong  where 
others  were  weak,  hopeful  where  others  despaired. 
He  was  wise  in  counsel,  and  prompt  in  action ;  like 
Tennyson's  Sir  Galahad, 

"  His  strength  was  as  the  strength  of  ten, 
Because  his  heart  was  pure. ' ' 

I  met  him  for  the  first  time  forty  years  ago,  at 
the  convention  which  formed  the  American  Anti- 
Slavery  Society,  where  I  chanced  to  sit  by  him  as 
one  of  the  secretaries.  Myself  young  and  inex- 
perienced, I  remember  how  profoundly  I  was  im- 
pressed by  his  cool  self-possession,  clearness  of  per- 
ception, and  wonderful  executive  ability.  Had  he 
devoted  himself  to  party  politics  with  half  the  zeal 
which  he  manifested  in  behalf  of  those  who  had  no 
votes  to  give  and  no  honors  to  bestow,  he  could 
have  reached  the  highest  offices  in  the  land.  He 
chose  his  course,  knowing  all  that  he  renounced, 
and  he  chose  it  wisely.  He  never,  at  least,  re- 
gretted it. 

And  now,  at  the  ripe  age  of  eighty-five  years,  the 
brave  old  man  has  passed  onward  to  the  higher 
life,  having  outlived  here  all  hatred,  abuse,  and 
misrepresentation,  having  seen  the  great  work  of 
Emancipation  completed,  and  white  men  and  black 
men  equal  before  the  law.  I  saw  him  for  the  last 
time  three  years  ago,  when  he  was  preparing  his 
valuable  biography  of  his  beloved  brother  Arthur. 
Age  had  begun  to  tell  upon  his  constitution,  but 
his  intellectual  force  was  not  abated.  The  old, 
pleasant  laugh  and  playful  humor  remained.  He 
looked  forward  to  the  close  of  life  hopefully,  even 


280     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

cheerfully,  as  he  called  to  mind  the  dear  friends 
who  had  passed  on  before  him,  to  await  his  coming. 
Of  the  sixty-three  signers  of  the  Anti-Slavery 
Declaration  at  the  Philadelphia  Convention  in 
1833,  probably  not  more  than  eight  or  ten  are  now 
living. 

"As  clouds  that  rake  the  mountain  summits, 

As  waves  that  know  no  guiding  hand, 
So  swift  has  brother  followed  brother 
From  sunshine  to  the  sunless  land." 

Yet  it  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that  the  oldest  mem- 
ber of  that  convention,  David  Thurston,  D.  D.,  of 
Maine,  lived  to  see  the  slaves  emancipated,  and  to 
mingle  his  voice  of  thanksgiving  with  the  bells  that 
rang  in  the  day  of  universal  freedom. 


BAYAKD  TAYLOK. 

Read  at  the  memorial  meeting  in  Tremont  Temple,  Boston, 
January  10,  1879. 

I  AM  not  able  to  attend  the  memorial  meeting 
in  Tremont  Temple  on  the  10th  instant,  but  my 
heart  responds  to  any  testimonial  appreciative  of 
the  intellectual  achievements  and  the  noble  and 
manly  life  of  Bayard  Taylor.  More  than  thirty 
years  have  intervened  between  my  first  meeting 
him  in  the  fresh  bloom  of  his  youth  and  hope 
and  honorable  ambition,  and  my  last  parting  with 
him  under  the  elms  of  Boston  Common,  after  our 
visit  to  Richard  H.  Dana,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
ninetieth  anniversary  of  that  honored  father  of 
American  poetry,  still  living  to  lament  the  death 
of  his  younger  disciple  and  friend.  How  much  he 
has  accomplished  in  these  years !  The  most  indus- 
trious of  men,  slowly,  patiently,  under  many  dis- 
advantages, he  built  up  his  splendid  reputation. 
Traveller,  editor,  novelist,  translator,  diplomatist, 
and  through  all  and  above  all  poet,  what  he  was 
he  owed  wholly  to  himself.  His  native  honesty 
was  satisfied  with  no  half  tasks.  He  finished  as 
he  went,  and  always  said  and  did  his  best. 

It  is  perhaps  too  early  to  assign  him  his  place  in 
American  literature.  His  picturesque  books  of 
travel,  his  Oriental  lyrics,  his  Pennsylvanian  idyls, 


282     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

his  Centennial  ode,  the  pastoral  beauty  and  Chris- 
tian sweetness  of  Lars,  and  the  high  argument 
and  rhythmic  marvel  of  Deukalion  are  sureties  of 
the  permanence  of  his  reputation.  But  at  this 
moment  my  thoughts  dwell  rather  upon  the  man 
than  the  author.  The  calamity  of  his  death,  felt 
in  both  hemispheres,  is  to  me  and  to  all  who  inti- 
mately knew  and  loved  him  a  heavy  personal  loss. 
Under  the  shadow  of  this  bereavement,  in  the 
inner  circle  of  mourning,  we  sorrow  most  of  all 
that  we  shall  see  his  face  no  more,  and  long  for 
"  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand,  and  the  sound  of  a 
voice  that  is  still." 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING. 

Read  at  the  dedication  of  the  Charming  Memorial  Church  at 
Newport,  R.  I. 

DANVERS,  MASS.,  3d  Mo.,  13, 1880. 

I  SCARCELY  need  say  that  I  yield  to  no  one  in 
love  and  reverence  for  the  great  and  good  man 
whose  memory,  outliving  all  prejudices  of  creed, 
sect,  and  party,  is  the  common  legacy  of  Christen- 
dom. As  the  years  go  on,  the  value  of  that  legacy 
will  be  more  and  more  felt ;  not  so  much,  perhaps, 
in  doctrine  as  in  spirit,  in  those  utterances  of  a 
devout  soul  which  are  above  and  beyond  the  affir- 
mation or  negation  of  dogma. 

His  ethical  severity  and  Christian  tenderness ; 
his  hatred  of  wrong  and  oppression,  with  love  and 
pity  for  the  wrong-doer ;  his  noble  pleas  for  self- 
culture,  temperance,  peace,  and  purity ;  and  above 
all,  his  precept  and  example  of  unquestioning 
obedience  to  duty  and  the  voice  of  God  in  his 
soul,  can  never  become  obsolete.  It  is  very  fitting 
that  his  memory  should  be  especially  cherished 
with  that  of  Hopkins  and  Berkeley  in  the  beautiful 
island  to  which  the  common  residence  of  those 
worthies  has  lent  additional  charms  and  interest. 


DEATH  OF  PRESIDENT  GARFIELD. 

A  letter  written  to  W.  H.  B.  Currier,  of  Amesbury,  Mass. 

DANVERS,  MASS.,  9th  Mo.,  24,  1881. 

I  REGRET  that  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  join  the 
citizens  of  Amesbury  and  Salisbury  in  the  memo- 
rial services  on  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  our 
lamented  President.  But  in  heart  and  sympathy 
I  am  with  you.  I  share  the  great  sorrow  which 
overshadows  the  land  ;  I  fully  appreciate  the  irre- 
trievable loss.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  occa- 
sion is  one  for  thankfulness  as  well  as  grief. 

Through  all  the  stages  of  the  solemn  tragedy 
which  has  just  closed  with  the  death  of  our  no- 
blest and  best,  I  have  felt  that  the  Divine  Provi- 
dence was  overruling  the  mighty  affliction,  —  that 
the  patient  sufferer  at  Washington  was  drawing 
with  cords  of  sympathy  all  sections  and  parties 
nearer  to  each  other.  And  now,  when  South  and 
North,  Democrat  and  Republican,  Radical  and 
Conservative,  lift  their  voices  in  one  unbroken 
accord  of  lamentation ;  when  I  see  how,  in  spite  of 
the  greed  of  gain,  the  lust  of  office,  the  strifes  and 
narrowness  of  party  politics,  the  great  heart  of  the 
nation  proves  sound  and  loyal,  I  feel  a  new  hope 
for  the  republic,  I  have  a  firmer  faith  in  its  sta- 
bility. It  is  said  that  no  man  liveth  and  no  man 
dieth  to  himself;  and  the  pure  and  noble  life  of 


DEATH   OF  PRESIDENT  GARFIELD     285 

Garfield,  and  his  slow,  long  martyrdom,  so  bravely 
borne  in  view  of  all,  are,  I  believe,  bearing  for  us 
as  a  people  "the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteous- 
ness." We  are  stronger,  wiser,  better,  for  them. 

With  him  it  is  well.  His  mission  fulfilled,  he 
goes  to  his  grave  by  the  Lakeside  honored  and 
lamented  as  man  never  was  before.  The  whole 
world  mourns  him.  There  is  no  speech  nor  lan- 
guage where  the  voice  of  his  praise  is  not  heard. 
About  his  grave  gather,  with  heads  uncovered,  the 
vast  brotherhood  of  man. 

And  .with  us  it  is  well,  also.  We  are  nearer  a 
united  people  than  ever  before.  We  are  at  peace 
with  all ;  our  future  is  full  of  promise  ;  our  indus- 
trial and  financial  condition  is  hopeful.  God  grant 
that,  while  our  material  interests  prosper,  the 
moral  and  spiritual  influence  of  the  occasion  may 
be  permanently  felt;  that  the  solemn  sacrament 
of  Sorrow,  whereof  we  have  been  made  partakers, 
may  be  blest  to  the  promotion  of  the  righteousness 
which  exalteth  a  nation. 


LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD. 

In  1882  a  collection  of  the  Letters  of  Lydia  Maria  Child  was 
published,  for  which  I  wrote  the  following  sketch,  as  an  intro- 
duction: -^ 

IN  presenting  to  the  public  this  memorial  vol- 
ume, its  compilers  deemed  that  a  brief  biographical 
introduction  was  necessary ;  and  as  a  labor  of  love 
I  have  not  been  able  to  refuse  their  request  to  pre- 
pare it. 

Lydia  Maria  Francis  was  bom  in  Medford, 
Massachusetts,  February  11,  1802.  Her  father, 
Convers  Francis,  was  a  worthy  and  substantial 
citizen  of  that  town.  Her  brother,  Convers  Fran- 
cis, afterwards  theological  professor  in  Harvard 
College,  was  some  years  older  than  herself,  and 
assisted  her  in  her  early  home  studies,  though,  with 
the  perversity  of  an  elder  brother,  he  sometimes 
mystified  her  in  answering  her  questions.  Once, 
when  she  wished  to  know  what  was  meant  by 
Milton's  "  raven  down  of  darkness,"  which  was 
made  to  smile  when  smoothed,  he  explained  that 
it  was  only  the  fur  of  a  black  cat,  which  sparkled 
when  stroked !  Later  in  life  this  brother  wrote  of 
her,  "  She  has  been  a  dear,  good  sister  to  me : 
would  that  I  had  been  half  as  good  a  brother  to 
her."  Her  earliest  teacher  was  an  aged  spinster, 
known  in  the  village  as  "  Marm  Betty,"  painfully 
shy,  and  with  many  oddities  of  person  and  manner, 


Lydia  Maria  Child 


LYDIA   MARIA   CHILD  287 

the  never-forgotten  calamity  of  whose  life  was  that 
Governor  Brooks  once  saw  her  drinking  out  of  the 
nose  of  her  tea-kettle.  Her  school  was  in  her 
bed-room,  always  untidy,  and  she  was  a  constant 
chewer  of  tobacco  ;  but  the  children  were  fond  of 
her,  and  Maria  and  her  father  always  carried  her 
a  good  Sunday  dinner.  Thomas  W.  Higginson,  in 
Eminent  Women  of  the  Age,  mentions  in  this  con- 
nection that,  according  to  an  established  custom, 
on  the  night  before  Thanksgiving  "  all  the  humble 
friends  of  the  Francis  household  —  Marm  Betty, 
the  washerwoman,  wood-sawyer,  and  journeymen, 
some  twenty  or  thirty  in  all  —  were  summoned  to 
a  preliminary  entertainment.  They  there  partook 
of  an  immense  chicken  pie,  pumpkin  pie  made  in 
milk-pans,  and  heaps  of  doughnuts.  They  feasted 
in  the  large,  old-fashioned  kitchen,  and  went  away 
loaded  with  crackers  and  bread  and  pies,  not  for- 
getting *  turnovers '  for  the  children.  Such  plain 
application  of  the  doctrine  that  it  is  more  blessed 
to  give  than  receive  may  have  done  more  to  mould 
the  character  of  Lydia  Maria  Child  of  maturer 
years  than  all  the  faithful  labors  of  good  Dr.  Os- 
good,  to  whom  she  and  her  brother  used  to  repeat 
the  Assembly's  catechism  once  a  month." 

Her  education  was  limited  to  the  public  schools, 
with  the  exception  of  one  year  at  a  private  semi- 
nary in  her  native  town.  From  a  note  by  her 
brother,  Dr.  Francis,  we  learn  that  when  twelve 
years  of  age  she  went  to  Norridgewock,  Maine, 
where  her  married  sister  resided.  At  Dr.  Brown's, 
in  Skowhegan,  she  first  read  Waverley.  She  was 
greatly  excited,  and  exclaimed,  as  she  laid  down 


288     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

the  book,  "  Why  cannot  I  write  a  novel  ?  "  She 
remained  in  Norridgewock  and  vicinity  for  several 
years,  and  on  her  return  to  Massachusetts  took 
up  her  abode  with  her  brother  at  Watertown.  He 
encouraged  her  literary  tastes,  and  it  was  in  his 
study  that  she  commenced  her  first  story,  Hobomok, 
which  she  published  in  the  twenty-first  year  of  her 
age.  The  success  it  met  with  induced  her  to  give 
to  the  public,  soon  after,  The  Rebels :  a  Tale  of 
the  Revolution,  which  was  at  once  received  into 
popular  favor,  and  ran  rapidly  through  several 
editions.  Then  followed  in  close  succession  The 
Mother's  Boole,  running  through  eight  American 
editions,  twelve  English,  and  one  German,  The 
Girl's  Book,  the  History  of  Women,  and  the 
Frugal  Housewife,  of  which  thirty-five  editions 
were  published.  Her  Juvenile  Miscellany  was 
commenced  in  1826. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  half  a  century  ago 
she  was  the  most  popular  literary  woman  in  the 
United  States.  She  had  published  historical  novels 
of  unquestioned  power  of  description  and  charac- 
terization, and  was  widely  and  favorably  known  as 
the  editor  of  the  Juvenile  Miscellany,  which  was 
probably  the  first  periodical  in  the  English  tongue 
devoted  exclusively  to  children,  and  to  which  she 
was  by  far  the  largest  contributor.  Some  of  the 
tales  and  poems  from  her  pen  were  extensively 
copied  and  greatly  admired.  It  was  at  this  period 
that  the  North  American  Review,  the  highest 
literary  authority  of  the  country,  said  of  her,  "  We 
are  not  sure  that  any  woman  of  our  country  could 
outrank  Mrs.  Child.  This  lady  has  been  long 


LYDIA   MARIA    CHILD  289 

before  the  public  as  an  author  with  much  success. 
And  she  well  deserves  it,  for  in  all  her  works  noth- 
ing can  be  found  which  does  not  commend  itself, 
by  its  tone  of  healthy  morality  and  good  sense. 
Few  female  writers,  if  any,  have  done  more  or 
better  things  for  our  literature  in  the  lighter  or 
graver  departments." 

Comparatively  young,  she  had  placed  herself  in 
the  front  rank  of  American  authorship.  Her 
books  and  her  magazine  had  a  large  circulation, 
and  were  affording  her  a  comfortable  income,  at  a 
time  when  the  rewards  of  authorship  were  uncer- 
tain and  at  the  best  scanty. 

In  1828  she  married  David  Lee  Child,  Esq.,  a 
young  and  able  lawyer,  and  took  up  her  residence 
in  Boston.  In  1831-32  both  became  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  subject  of  slavery,  through  the  writings 
and  personal  influence  of  William  Lloyd  Garrison. 
Her  husband,  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  legis- 
lature and  editor  of  the  Massachusetts  Journal, 
had,  at  an  earlier  date,  denounced  the  project  of 
the  dismemberment  of  Mexico  for  the  purpose  of 
strengthening  and  extending  American  slavery. 
He  was  one  of  the  earliest  members  of  the  New 
England  Anti-Slavery  Society,  and  his  outspoken 
hostility  to  the  peculiar  institution  greatly  and 
unfavorably  affected  his  interests  as  a  lawyer.  In 
1832  he  addressed  a  series  of  able  letters  on  slavery 
and  the  slave-trade  to  Edward  S.  Abdy,  a  promi- 
nent English  philanthropist.  In  1836  he  published 
in  Philadelphia  ten  strongly  written  articles  on  the 
same  subject.  He  visited  England  and  France  in 
1837,  and  while  in  Paris  addressed  an  elaborate 


290     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

memoir  to  the  Socie"te  pour  1' Abolition  d'Escla- 
vage,  and  a  paper  on  the  same  subject  to  the  editor 
of  the  Eclectic  Review,  in  London.  To  his  facts 
and  arguments  John  Quincy  Adams  was  much 
indebted  in  the  speeches  which  he  delivered  in 
Congress  on  the  Texas  question. 

In  1833  the  American  Anti-Slavery  Society  was 
formed  by  a  convention  in  Philadelphia.  Its  num- 
bers were  small,  and  it  was  everywhere  spoken 
against.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Lydia  Maria 
Child  startled  the  country  by  the  publication  of  her 
noble  Appeal  in  Behalf  of  that  Class  of  Ameri- 
cans called  Africans.  It  is  quite  impossible  for 
any  one  of  the  present  generation  to  imagine  the 
popular  surprise  and  indignation  which  the  book 
called  forth,  or  how  entirely  its  author  cut  herself 
off  from  the  favor  and  sympathy  of  a  large  number 
of  those  who  had  previously  delighted  to  do  her 
honor.  Social  and  literary  circles,  which  had  been 
proud  of  her  presence,  closed  their  doors  against 
her.  The  sale  of  her  books,  the  subscriptions  to 
her  magazine,  fell  off  to  a  ruinous  extent.  She 
knew  all  she  was  hazarding,  and  made  the  great 
sacrifice,  prepared  for  all  the  consequences  which 
followed.  In  the  preface  to  her  book  she  says,  "  I 
am  fully  aware  of  the  unpopularity  of  the  task  I 
have  undertaken  ;  but  though  I  expect  ridicule  and 
censure,  I  do  not  fear  them.  A  few  years  hence, 
the  opinion  of  the  world  will  be  a  matter  in  which 
I  have  not  even  the  most  transient  interest ;  but 
this  book  will  be  abroad  on  its  mission  of  humanity 
long  after  the  hand  that  wrote  it  is  mingling  with 
the  dust.  Should  it  be  the  means  of  advancing, 


LYDIA   MARIA    CHILD  291 

even  one  single  hour,  the  inevitable  progress  of 
truth  and  justice,  I  would  not  exchange  the  con- 
sciousness for  all  Kothschild's  wealth  or  Sir  Wal- 
ter's fame." 

Thenceforth  her  life  was  a  battle ;  a  constant 
rowing  hard  against  the  stream  of  popular  preju- 
dice and  hatred.  And  through  it  all  —  pecuniary 
privation,  loss  of  friends  and  position,  the  painful- 
ness  of  being  suddenly  thrust  from  "  the  still  air  of 
delightful  studies  "  into  the  bitterest  and  sternest 
controversy  of  the  age  —  she  bore  herself  with  pa- 
tience, fortitude,  and  unshaken  reliance  upon  the 
justice  and  ultimate  triumph  of  the  cause  she  had 
espoused.  Her  pen  was  never  idle.  Wherever 
there  was  a  brave  word  to  be  spoken,  her  voice 
was  heard,  and  never  without  effect.  It  is  not  ex- 
aggeration to  say  that  no  man  or  woman  at  that 
period  rendered  more  substantial  service  to  the 
cause  of  freedom,  or  made  such  a  "  great  renunci- 
ation "  in  doing  it. 

A  practical  philanthropist,  she  had  the  courage 
of  her  convictions,  and  from  the  first  was  no  mere 
closet  moralist  or  sentimental  bewailer  of  the  woes 
of  humanity.  She  was  the  Samaritan  stooping 
over  the  wounded  Jew.  She  calmly  and  unflinch- 
ingly took  her  place  by  the  side  of  the  despised 
slave  and  free  man  of  color,  and  in  word  and  act 
protested  against  the  cruel  prejudice  which  shut 
out  its  victims  from  the  rights  and  privileges  of 
American  citizens.  Her  philanthropy  had  no  taint 
of  fanaticism ;  throughout  the  long  struggle,  in 
which  she  was  a  prominent  actor,  she  kept  her  fine 
sense  of  humor,  good  taste,  and  sensibility  to  the 


292     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 
beautiful  in  art  and   nature.1     While  faithful  to 

1  The  opposition  she  met  with  from  those  who  had  shared  her 
confidence  and  friendship  was  of  course  keenly  felt,  but  her  kindly 
and  genial  disposition  remained  unsoured.  She  rarely  spoke  of 
her  personal  trials,  and  never  posed  as  a  martyr.  The  nearest 
approach  to  anything  like  complaint  is  in  the  following  lines,  the 
date  of  which  I  have  not  been  able  to  ascertain :  — 

THE  WORLD  THAT  I  AM  PASSING  THROUGH. 

Few  in  the  days  of  early  youth 
Trusted  like  me  in  love  and  truth. 
I  've  learned  sad  lessons  from  the  years, 
But  slowly,  and  with  many  tears ; 
For  God  made  me  to  kindly  view 
The  world  that  I  am  passing  through. 

Though  kindness  and  forbearance  long 
Must  meet  ingratitude  and  wrong, 
I  still  would  bless  my  fellow-men, 
And  trust  them  though  deceived  again. 
God  help  me  still  to  kindly  view 
The  world  that  I  am  passing  through. 

From  all  that  fate  has  brought  to  me 

I  strive  to  learn  humility, 

And  trust  in  Him  who  rules  above, 

Whose  universal  law  is  love. 

Thus  only  can  I  kindly  view 

The  world  that  I  am  passing  through. 

When  I  approach  the  setting  sun, 
And  feel  my  journey  well-nigh  done, 
May  Earth  be  veiled  in  genial  light, 
And  her  last  smile  to  me  seem  bright. 
Help  me  till  then  to  kindly  view 
The  world  that  I  am  passing  through. 

And  all  who  tempt  a  trusting  heart 

From  faith  and  hope  to  drift  apart, 

May  they  themselves  be  spared  the  pain 

Of  losing  power  to  trust  again. 

God  help  us  all  to  kindly  view 

The  world  that  we  are  passing  through. 


LYDIA   MARIA    CHILD  293 

the  great  duty  which  she  felt  was  laid  upon  her  in 
an  especial  manner,  she  was  by  no  means  a  re- 
former of  one  idea,  but  her  interest  was  manifested 
in  every  question  affecting  the  welfare  of  human- 
ity. Peace,  temperance,  education,  prison  reform, 
and  equality  of  civil  rights,  irrespective  of  sex,  en- 
gaged her  attention.  Under  all  the  disadvantages 
of  her  estrangement  from  popular  favor,  her  charm- 
ing Greek  romance  of  Philothea  and  her  Lives  of 
Madame  Roland  and  the  Baroness  de  Stael  proved 
that  her  literary  ability  had  lost  nothing  of  its 
strength,  and  that  the  hand  which  penned  such 
terrible  rebukes  had  still  kept  its  delicate  touch, 
and  gracefully  yielded  to  the  inspiration  of  fancy 
and  art.  While  engaged  with  her  husband  in  the 
editorial  supervision  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Standard, 
she  wrote  her  admirable  Letters  from  New  York; 
humorous,  eloquent,  and  picturesque,  but  still  hu- 
manitarian in  tone,  which  extorted  the  praise  of 
even  a  pro-slavery  community.  Her  great  work, 
in  three  octavo  volumes,  The  Progress  of  Religious 
Ideas,  belongs,  in  part,  to  that  period.  It  is  an 
attempt  to  represent  in  a  candid,  unprejudiced 
manner  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  great  religions 
of  the  world,  and  their  ethical  relations  to  each 
other.  She  availed  herself  of,  and  carefully  stud- 
ied, the  authorities  at  that  time  accessible,  and  the 
result  is  creditable  to  her  scholarship,  industry,  and 
conscientiousness.  If,  in  her  desire  to  do  justice 
to  the  religions  of  Buddha  and  Mohammed,  in 
which  she  has  been  followed  by  Maurice,  Max 
Miiller,  and  Dean  Stanley,  she  seems  at  times  to 
dwell  upon  the  best  and  overlook  the  darker  fea- 


294     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

tures  of  those  systems,  her  concluding  reflections 
should  vindicate  her  from  the  charge  of  undervalu- 
ing the  Christian  faith,  or  of  lack  of  reverent  ap- 
preciation of  its  founder.  In  the  closing  chapter 
of  her  work,  in  which  the  large  charity  and  broad 
sympathies  of  her  nature  are  manifest,  she  thus 
turns  with  words  of  love,  warm  from  the  heart,  to 
Him  whose  Sermon  on  the  Mount  includes  most 
that  is  good  and  true  and  vital  in  the  religions  and 
philosophies  of  the  world :  — 

"  It  was  reserved  for  Him  to  heal  the  broken- 
hearted, to  preach  a  gospel  to  the  poor,  to  say, 
'  Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven,  for  she 
loved  much.'  Nearly  two  thousand  years  have 
passed  away  since  these  words  of  love  and  pity 
were  uttered,  yet  when  I  read  them  my  eyes  fill 
with  tears.  I  thank  Thee,  O  Heavenly  Father,  for 
all  the  messengers  thou  hast  sent  to  man ;  but, 
above  all,  I  thank  Thee  for  Him,  thy  beloved  Son  ! 
Pure  lily  blossom  of  the  centuries,  taking  root  in 
the  lowliest  depths,  and  receiving  the  light  and 
warmth  of  heaven  in  its  golden  heart !  All  that 
the  pious  have  felt,  all  that  poets  have  said,  all 
that  artists  have  done,  with  their  manifold  forms 
of  beauty,  to  represent  the  ministry  of  Jesus,  are 
but  feeble  expressions  of  the  great  debt  we  owe 
Him  who  is  even  now  curing  the  lame,  restoring 
sight  to  the  blind,  and  raising  the  dead  in  that 
spiritual  sense  wherein  all  miracle  is  true." 

During  her  stay  in  New  York,  as  editor  of  the 
Anti  -  Slavery  Standard,  she  found  a  pleasant 
home  at  the  residence  of  the  genial  philanthropist, 
Isaac  T.  Hopper,  whose  remarkable  life  she  after- 


LYDIA  MARIA    CHILD  295 

wards  wrote.  Her  portrayal  of  this  extraordinary 
man,  so  brave,  so  humorous,  so  tender  and  faithful 
to  his  convictions  of  duty,  is  one  of  the  most  read- 
able pieces  of  biography  in  English  literature. 
Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson,  in  a  discriminat- 
ing paper  published  in  1869,  speaks  of  her  eight 
years'  sojourn  in  New  York  as  the  most  interest- 
ing and  satisfactory  period  of  her  whole  life.  "  She 
was  placed  where  her  sympathetic  nature  found 
abundant  outlet  and  occupation.  Dwelling  in  a 
house  where  disinterestedness  and  noble  labor  were 
as  daily  breath,  she  had  great  opportunities. 
There  was  no  mere  alms-giving ;  but  sin  and  sor- 
row must  be  brought  home  to  the  fireside  and  the 
heart ;  the  fugitive  slave,  the  drunkard,  the  out- 
cast woman,  must  be  the  chosen  guests  of  the 
abode,  —  must  be  taken,  and  held,  and  loved  into 
reformation  or  hope." 

It  would  be  a  very  imperfect  representation  of 
Maria  Child  which  regarded  her  only  from  a  liter- 
ary point  of  view.  She  was  wise  in  counsel ;  and 
men  like  Charles  Sumner,  Henry  Wilson,  Salmon 
P.  Chase,  and  Governor  Andrew  availed  them- 
selves of  her  foresight  and  sound  judgment  of  men 
and  measures.  Her  pen  was  busy  with  corre- 
spondence, and  whenever  a  true  man  or  a  good  cause 
needed  encouragement,  she  was  prompt  to  give  it. 
Her  donations  for  benevolent  causes  and  beneficent 
reforms  were  constant  and  liberal ;  and  only  those 
who  knew  her  intimately  could  understand  the 
cheerful  and  unintermitted  self-denial  which  alone 
enabled  her  to  make  them.  .  She  did  her  work  as 
far  as  possible  out  of  sight,  without  noise  or  pre- 


296     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

tension.  Her  time,  talents,  and  money  were  held 
not  as  her  own,  but  a  trust  from  the  Eternal  Father 
for  the  benefit  of  His  suffering  children.  Her 
plain,  cheap  dress  was  glorified  by  the  generous 
motive  for  which  she  wore  it.  Whether  in  the 
crowded  city  among  the  sin-sick  and  starving,  or 
among  the  poor  and  afflicted  in  the  neighborhood 
of  her  country  home,  no  story  of  suffering  and 
need,  capable  of  alleviation,  ever  reached  her  with- 
out immediate  sympathy  and  corresponding  action. 
Lowell,  one  of  her  warmest  admirers,  in  his  fable 
for  Critics  has  beautifully  portrayed  her  abound- 
ing benevolence :  — 

"  There  comes  Philothea,  her  face  all  aglow : 
She  has  just  been  dividing  some  poor  creature's  woe, 
And  can't  tell  which  pleases  her  most,  to  relieve 
His  want,  or  his  story  to  hear  and  believe. 
No  donbt  against  many  deep  griefs  she  prevails, 
For  her  ear  is  the  refuge  of  destitute  tales ; 
She  knows  well  that  silence  is  sorrow's  best  food, 
And  that  talking  draws  off  from  the  heart  its  black  blood." 

' '  The  pole,  science  tells  us,  the  magnet  controls, 
But  she  is  a  magnet  to  emigrant  Poles, 
And  folks  with  a  mission  that  nobody  knows 
Throng  thickly  about  her  as  bees  round  a  rose. 
She  can  fill  up  the  carets  in  such,  make  their  scope 
Converge  to  some  focus  of  rational  hope, 
And,  with  sympathies  fresh  as  the  morning,  their  gall 
Can  transmute  into  honey, —  but  this  is  not  all; 
Not  only  for  those  she  has  solace  ;  O,  say, 
Vice's  desperate  nursling  adrift  in  Broadway, 
Who  clingest,  with  all  that  is  left  of  thee  human, 
To  the  last  slender  spar  from  the  wreck  of  the  woman, 
Hast  thou  not  found  one  shore  where  those  tired,  drooping  feet 
Could  reach  firm  mother-earth,  one  full  heart  on  whose  beat 
The  soothed  head  in  silence  reposing  could  hear 
The  chimes  of  far  childhood  throb  back  on  the  ear  ? 


LYDIA  MARIA    CHILD  297 

Ah,  there 's  many  a  beam  from  the  fountain  of  day 

That,  to  reach  us  unclouded,  must  pass,  on  its  way, 

Through  the  soul  of  a  woman,  and  hers  is  wide  ope 

To  the  influence  of  Heaven  as  the  blue  eyes  of  Hope ; 

Yes,  a  great  heart  is  hers,  one  that  dares  to  go  in 

To  the  prison,  the  slave-hut,  the  alleys  of  sin, 

And  to  bring  into  each,  or  to  find  there,  some  line 

Of  the  never  completely  out-trampled  divine ; 

If  her  heart  at  high  floods  swamps  her  brain  now  and  then, 

'T  is  but  richer  for  that  when  the  tide  ebbs  again, 

As,  after  old  Nile  has  subsided,  his  plain 

Overflows  with  a  second  broad  deluge  of  grain ; 

What  a  wealth  would  it  bring  to  the  narrow  and  sour, 

Could  they  be  as  a  Child  but  for  one  little  hour !  " 

After  leaving  New  York,  her  husband  and  her- 
self took  up  their  residence  in  the  rural  town  of 
Wayland,  Mass.  Their  house,  plain  and  unpre- 
tentious, had  a  wide  and  pleasant  outlook  ;  a  flower 
garden,  carefully  tended  by  her  own  hands,  in 
front,  and  on  the  side  a  fruit  orchard  and  vege- 
table garden,  under  the  special  care  of  her  hus- 
band. The  house  was  always  neat,  with  some  ap- 
pearance of  unostentatious  decoration,  evincing  at 
once  the  artistic  taste  of  the  hostess  and  the  con- 
scientious economy  which  forbade  its  indulgence  to 
any  great  extent.  Her  home  was  somewhat  apart 
from  the  lines  of  rapid  travel,  and  her  hospitality 
was  in  a  great  measure  confined  to  old  and  inti- 
mate friends,  while  her  visits  to  the  city  were 
brief  and  infrequent.  A  friend  of  hers,  who  had 
ample  opportunities  for  a  full  knowledge  of  her 
home-life,  says,  "  The  domestic  happiness  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Child  seemed  to  me  perfect.  Their  sym- 
pathies, their  admiration  of  all  things  good,  and 
their  hearty  hatred  of  all  things  mean  and  evil 


298     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

were  in  entire  unison.  Mr.  Child  shared  his 
wife's  enthusiasms,  and  was  very  proud  of  her. 
Their  affection,  never  paraded,  was  always  mani- 
fest. After  Mr.  Child's  death,  Mrs.  Child,  in 
speaking  of  the  future  life,  said,  '  I  believe  it 
would  be  of  small  value  to  me  if  I  were  not  united 
to  him.'  " 

In  this  connection  I  cannot  forbear  to  give  an 
extract  from  some  reminiscences  of  her  husband, 
which  she  left  among  her  papers,  which,  better 
than  any  words  of  mine,  will  convey  an  idea  of 
their  simple  and  beautiful  home-life :  — 

"  In  1852  we  made  a  humble  home  in  Wayland, 
Mass.,  where  we  spent  twenty-two  pleasant  years 
entirely  alone,  without  any  domestic,  mutually 
serving  each  other,  and  dependent  upon  each  other 
for  intellectual  companionship.  I  always  depended 
on  his  richly  stored  mind,  which  was  able  and 
ready  to  furnish  needed  information  on  any  sub- 
ject. He  was  my  walking  dictionary  of  many  lan- 
guages, my  Universal  Encyclopaedia. 

"  In  his  old  age  he  was  as  affectionate  and  de- 
voted as  when  the  lover  of  my  youth;  nay,  he 
manifested  even  more  tenderness.  He  was  often 
singing,  — 

"  '  There  's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  Love's  old  dream.' 

"  Very  often,  when  he  passed  by  me,  he  would 
lay  his  hand  softly  on  my  head  and  murmur, 
'Carum  caput.'  .  .  .  But  what  I  remember  with 
the  most  tender  gratitude  is  his  uniform  patience 
and  forbearance  with  my  faults.  .  .  .  He  never 
would  see  anything  but  the  bright  side  of  my  char- 


LYDIA   MARIA    CHILD  299 

acter.  He  always  insisted  upon  thinking  that 
whatever  I  said  was  the  wisest  and  the  wittiest, 
and  that  whatever  I  did  was  the  best.  The  simplest 
little  jeu  d*  esprit  of  mine  seemed  to  him  wonder- 
fully witty.  Once,  when  he  said,  '  I  wish  for  your 
sake,  dear,  I  were  as  rich  as  Croesus,'  I  answered, 
*  You  are  Croesus,  for  you  are  king  of  Lydia.' 
How  often  he  used  to  quote  that ! 

"  His  mind  was  unclouded  to  the  last.  He  had 
a  passion  for  philology,  and  only  eight  hours  before 
he  passed  away  he  was  searching  out  the  derivation 
of  a  word." 

Her  well-stored  mind  and  fine  conversational  gifts 
made  her  company  always  desirable.  No  one  who 
listened  to  her  can  forget  the  earnest  eloquence 
with  which  she  used  to  dwell  upon  the  evidences, 
from  history,  tradition,  and  experience,  of  the 
superhuman  and  supernatural ;  or  with  what  eager 
interest  she  detected  in  the  mysteries  of  the  old 
religions  of  the  world  the  germs  of  a  purer  faith 
and  a  holier  hope.  She  loved  to  listen,  as  in  St. 
Pierre's  symposium  of  The  Coffee-House  of  Swat, 
to  the  confessions  of  faith  of  all  sects  and  schools 
of  philosophy,  Christian  and  pagan,  and  gather 
from  them  the  consoling  truth  that  our  Father  has 
nowhere  left  his  children  without  some  witness  of 
Himself.  She  loved  the  old  mystics,  and  lingered 
with  curious  interest  and  sympathy  over  the  writ- 
ings of  Bbhme,  Swedenborg,  Molinos,  and  Wool- 
man.  Yet  this  marked  speculative  tendency  seemed 
not  in  the  slightest  degree  to  affect  her  practical 
activities.  Her  mysticism  and  realism  ran  in  close 
parallel  lines  without  interfering  with  each  other. 


300     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

With  strong  rationalistic  tendencies  from  educa- 
tion and  conviction,  she  found  herself  in  spiritual 
accord  with  the  pious  introversion  of  Thomas  a 
Kempis  and  Madame  Guion.  She  was  fond  of 
Christmas  Eve  stories,  of  warnings,  signs,  and 
spiritual  intimations,  her  half  belief  in  which  some- 
times seemed  like  credulity  to  her  auditors.  James 
Kussell  Lowell,  in  his  tender  tribute  to  her,  play- 
fully alludes  to  this  characteristic :  — 

"  She  has  such  a  musical  taste  that  she  '11  go 
Any  distance  to  hear  one  who  draws  a  long  bow. 
She  will  swallow  a  wonder  by  mere  might  and  main." 

In  1859  the  descent  of  John  Brown  upon  Har- 
per's Ferry,  and  his  capture,  trial,  and  death, 
startled  the  nation.  When  the  news  reached  her 
that  the  misguided  but  noble  old  man  lay  desper- 
ately wounded  in  prison,  alone  and  unfriended,  she 
wrote  him  a  letter,  under  cover  of  one  to  Governor 
Wise,  asking  permission  to  go  and  nurse  and  care 
for  him.  The  expected  arrival  of  Captain  Brown's 
wife  made  her  generous  offer  unnecessary.  The 
prisoner  wrote  her,  thanking  her,  and  asking  her 
to  help  his  family,  a  request  with  which  she  faith- 
fully complied.  With  his  letter  came  one  from 
Governor  Wise,  in  courteous  reproval  of  her  sym- 
pathy for  John  Brown.  To  this  she  responded  in 
an  able  and  effective  manner.  Her  reply  found  its 
way  from  Virginia  to  the  New  York  Tribune,  and 
soon  after  Mrs.  Mason,  of  King  George's  County, 
wife  of  Senator  Mason,  the  author  of  the  infamous 
Fugitive  Slave  Law,  wrote  her  a  vehement  letter, 
commencing  with  threats  of  future  damnation,  and 
ending  with  assuring  her  that  "  no  Southerner, 


LYD1A   MARIA    CHILD  301 

after  reading  her  letter  to  Governor  Wise,  ought 
to  read  a  line  of  her  composition,  or  touch  a  maga- 
zine which  bore  her  name  in  its  list  of  contribu- 
tors." To  this  she  wrote  a  calm,  dignified  reply, 
declining  to  dwell  on  the  fierce  invectives  of  her  as- 
sailant, and  wishing  her  well  here  and  hereafter. 
She  would  not  debate  the  specific  merits  or  de- 
merits of  a  man  whose  body  was  in  charge  of  the 
courts,  and  whose  reputation  was  sure  to  be  in 
charge  of  posterity.  "  Men,"  she  continues,  "  are 
of  small  consequence  in  comparison  with  principles, 
and  the  principle  for  which  John  Brown  died  is 
the  question  at  issue  between  us."  These  letters 
were  soon  published  in  pamphlet  form,  and  had  the 
immense  circulation  of  300,000  copies. 

In  1867  she  published  A  Romance  of  the  Repub- 
lic, a  story  of  the  days  of  slavery  ;  powerful  in  its 
delineation  of  some  of  the  saddest  as  well  as  the 
most  dramatic  conditions  of  master  and  slave  in  the 
Southern  States.  Her  husband,  who  had  been  long 
an  invalid,  died  in  1874.  After  his  death  her 
home,  in  winter  especially,  became  a  lonely  one, 
and  in  1877  she  began  to  spend  the  cold  months  in 
Boston. 

Her  last  publication  was  in  1878,  when  her  -4s- 
pirations  of  the  World,  a  book  of  selections,  on 
moral  and  religious  subjects,  from  the  literature  of 
all  nations  and  times,  was  given  to  the  public.  The 
introduction,  occupying  fifty  pages,  shows,  at  three- 
score and  ten,  her  mental  vigor  unabated,  and  is 
remarkable  for  its  wise,  philosophic  tone  and  feli- 
city of  diction.  It  has  the  broad  liberality  of  her 
more  elaborate  work  on  the  same  subject,  and  in 


302     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

the  mellow  light  of  life's  sunset  her  words  seem 
touched  with  a  tender  pathos  and  beauty.  "  All 
we  poor  mortals,"  she  says,  "  are  groping  our  way 
through  paths  that  are  dim  with  shadows  ;  and  we 
are  all  striving,  with  steps  more  or  less  stumbling, 
to  follow  some  guiding  star.  As  we  travel  on,  be- 
loved companions  of  our  pilgrimage  vanish  from 
our  sight,  we  know  not  whither  ;  and  our  bereaved 
hearts  utter  cries  of  supplication  for  more  light. 
We  know  not  where  Hermes  Trismegistus  lived, 
or  who  he  was ;  but  his  voice  sounds  plaintively 
human,  coming  up  from  the  depths  of  the  ages, 
calling  out,  '  Thou  art  God !  and  thy  man  crieth 
these  things  unto  Thee !  '  Thus  closely  allied  in 
our  sorrows  and  limitations,  in  our  aspirations  and 
hopes,  surely  we  ought  not  to  be  separated  in  our 
sympathies.  However  various  the  names  by  which 
we  call  the  Heavenly  Father,  if  they  are  set  to 
music  by  brotherly  love,  they  can  all  be  sung  to- 
gether." 

Her  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  emancipated 
class  at  the  South  and  of  the  ill-fated  Indians  of 
the  West  remained  unabated,  and  she  watched  with 
great  satisfaction  the  experiment  of  the  education 
of  both  classes  in  General  Armstrong's  institution 
at  Hampton,  Va.  She  omitted  no  opportunity  of 
aiding  the  greatest  social  reform  of  the  age,  which 
aims  to  make  the  civil  and  political  rights  of  women 
equal  to  those  of  men.  Her  sympathies,  to  the  last, 
went  out  instinctively  to  the  wronged  and  weak. 
She  used  to  excuse  her  vehemence  in  this  respect 
by  laughingly  quoting  lines  from  a  poem  entitled 
The  Under  Dog  in  the  Fight :  — 


LYDIA   MARIA   CHILD  303 

"  I  know  that  the  world,  the  great  big  world, 

Will  never  a  moment  stop 
To  see  which  dog  may  be  in  the  wrong, 
But  will  shout  for  the  dog  on  top. 

"  But  for  me,  I  never  shall  pause  to  ask 

Which  dog  may  be  in  the  right ; 
For  my  heart  will  beat,  while  it  beats  at  all, 
For  the  under  dog  in  the  fight. ' ' 

I  am  indebted  to  a  gentleman  who  was  at  one 
time  a  resident  of  Wayland,  and  who  enjoyed  her 
confidence  and  warm  friendship,  for  the  following 
impressions  of  her  life  in  that  place  :  — 

"  On  one  of  the  last  beautiful  Indian  summer 
afternoons,  closing  the  past  year,  I  drove  through 
Wayland,  and  was  anew  impressed  with  the  charm 
of  our  friend's  simple  existence  there.  The  tender 
beauty  of  the  fading  year  seemed  a  reflection  of  her 
own  gracious  spirit ;  the  lovely  autumn  of  her  life, 
whose  golden  atmosphere  the  frosts  of  sorrow  and 
advancing  age  had  only  clarified  and  brightened. 

"  My  earliest  recollection  of  Mrs.  Child  in  Way- 
land  is  of  a  gentle  face  leaning  from  the  old  stage 
window,  smiling  kindly  down  on  the  childish  fig- 
ures beneath  her  ;  and  from  that  moment  her  gra- 
cious motherly  presence  has  been  closely  associated 
with  the  charm  of  rural  beauty  in  that  village, 
which  until  very  lately  has  been  quite  apart  from 
the  line  of  travel,  and  unspoiled  by  the  rush  and 
worry  of  our  modern  steam-car  mode  of  living. 

"Mrs.  Child's  life  in  the  place  made,  indeed, 
an  atmosphere  of  its  own,  a  benison  of  peace  and 
good-will,  which  was  a  noticeable  feature  to  all  who 
were  acquainted  with  the  social  feeling  of  the  little 
community,  refined,  as  it  was  too,  by  the  elevating 


304     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

influence  of  its  distinguished  pastor,  Dr.  Sears. 
Many  are  the  acts  of  loving  kindness  and  maternal 
care  which  could  be  chronicled  of  her  residence 
there,  were  we  permitted  to  do  so;  and  number- 
less are  the  lives  that  have  gathered  their  onward 
impulse  from  her  helping  hand.  But  it  was  all  a 
confidence  which  she  hardly  betrayed  to  her  in- 
most self,  and  I  will  not  recall  instances  which 
might  be  her  grandest  eulogy.  Her  monument  is 
builded  in  the  hearts  which  knew  her  benefactions, 
and  it  will  abide  with  '  the  power  that  makes  for 
righteousness.' 

"  One  of  the  pleasantest  elements  of  her  life  in 
Wayland  was  the  high  regard  she  won  from  the 
people  of  the  village,  who,  proud  of  her  literary  at- 
tainment, valued  yet  more  the  noble  womanhood 
of  the  friend  who  dwelt  so  modestly  among  them. 
The  grandeur  of  her  exalted  personal  character 
had,  in  part,  eclipsed  for  them  the  qualities  which 
made  her  fame  with  the  world  outside. 

"The  little  house  on  the  quiet  by-road  over- 
looked broad  green  meadows.  The  pond  behind 
it,  where  bloom  the  lilies  whose  spotless  purity 
may  well  symbolize  her  gentle  spirit,  is  a  sacred 
pool  to  her  townsfolk.  But  perhaps  the  most  fit- 
ting similitude  of  her  life  in  Wayland  was  the 
quiet  flow  of  the  river,  whose  gentle  curves  make 
green  her  meadows,  but  whose  powerful  energy, 
joining  the  floods  from  distant  mountains,  moves, 
with  resistless  might,  the  busy  shuttles  of  a  hun- 
dred mills.  She  was  too  truthful  to  affect  to  wel- 
come unwarrantable  invaders  of  her  peace,  but  no 
weary  traveller  on  life's  hard  ways  ever  applied  to 


LYD1A  MARIA    CHILD  305 

her  in  vain.  The  little  garden  plot  before  her 
door  was  a  sacred  enclosure,  not  to  be  rudely  in- 
truded upon  ;  but  the  flowers  she  tended  with  ma- 
ternal care  were  no  selfish  possession,  for  her  own 
enjoyment  only,  and  many  are  the  lives  their  sweet- 
ness has  gladdened  forever.  So  she  lived  among  a 
singularly  peaceful  and  intelligent  community  as 
one  of  themselves,  industrious,  wise,  and  happy ; 
with  a  frugality  whose  motive  of  wider  benevolence 
was  in  itself  a  homily  and  a  benediction." 

In  my  last  interview  with  her,  our  conversation, 
as  had  often  happened  before,  turned  upon  the 
great  theme  of  the  future  life.  She  spoke,  as  I  re- 
member, calmly  and  not  uncheerf ully,  but  with  the 
intense  earnestness  and  reverent  curiosity  of  one 
who  felt  already  the  shadow  of  the  unseen  world 
resting  upon  her. 

Her  death  was  sudden  and  quite  unexpected. 
For  some  months  she  had  been  troubled  with  a 
rheumatic  affection,  but  it  was  by  no  means  re- 
garded as  serious.  A  friend,  who  visited  her  a  few 
days  before  her  departure,  found  her  in  a  comfort- 
able condition,  apart  from  lameness.  She  talked 
of  the  coming  election  with  much  interest,  and  of 
her  plans  for  the  winter.  On  the  morning  of  her 
death  (October  20,  1880)  she  spoke  of  feeling  re- 
markably well.  Before  leaving  her  chamber  she 
complained  of  severe  pain  in  the  region  of  the 
heart.  Help  was  called  by  her  companion,  but 
only  reached  her  to  witness  her  quiet  passing  away. 

The  funeral  was,  as  befitted  one  like  her,  plain 
and  simple.  Many  of  her  old  friends  were  pres- 
ent, and  Wendell  Phillips  paid  an  affecting  and 


306     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

eloquent  tribute  to  his  old  friend  and  anti-slavery 
coadjutor.  He  referred  to  the  time  when  she  ac- 
cepted, with  serene  self-sacrifice,  the  obloquy  which 
her  Appeal  had  brought  upon  her,  and  noted, 
as  one  of  the  many  ways  in  which  popular  hatred 
was  manifested,  the  withdrawal  from  her  of  the 
privileges  of  the  Boston  Athenaeum.  Her  pall- 
bearers were  elderly,  plain  farmers  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ;  and,  led  by  the  old  white-haired  under- 
taker, the  procession  wound  its  way  to  the  not  dis- 
tant burial-ground,  over  the  red  and  gold  of  fallen 
leaves,  and  under  the  half-clouded  October  sky. 
A  lover  of  all  beautiful  things,  she  was,  as  her  in- 
timate friends  knew,  always  delighted  by  the  sight 
of  rainbows,  and  used  to  so  arrange  prismatic 
glasses  as  to  throw  the  colors  on  the  walls  of  her 
room.  Just  after  her  body  was  consigned  to  the 
earth,  a  magnificent  rainbow  spanned  with  its  arc 
of  glory  the  eastern  sky.1 

1  The  incident  at  her  burial  is  alluded  to  in  a  sonnet  •written 
by  William  P.  Andrews :  — 

"  Freedom  !  she  knew  thy  summons,  and  obeyed 
That  clarion  voice  as  yet  scarce  heard  of  men ; 
Gladly  she  joined  thy  red-cross  service  when 
Honor  and  wealth  must  at  thy  feet  be  laid : 
Onward  with  faith  undaunted,  undismayed 
By  threat  or  scorn,  she  toiled  with  hand  and  brain 
To  make  thy  cause  triumphant,  till  the  chain 
Lay  broken,  and  for  her  the  freedmen  prayed. 
Nor  yet  she  faltered ;  in  her  tender  care 
She  took  us  all ;  and  wheresoe'er  she  went, 
Blessings,  and  Faith,  and  Beauty  followed  there, 
E'en  to  the  end,  where  she  lay  down  content ; 
And  with  the  gold  light  of  a  life  more  fair, 
Twin  bows  of  promise  o'er  her  grave  were  blent." 


LYDIA   MARIA    CHILD  307 

The  letters  in  this  collection  constitute  but  a 
small  part  of  her  large  correspondence.  They 
have  been  gathered  up  and  arranged  by  the  hands 
of  dear  relatives  and  friends  as  a  fitting  memorial 
of  one  who  wrote  from  the  heart  as  well  as  the 
head,  and  who  held  her  literary  reputation  subor- 
dinate always  to  her  philanthropic  aim  to  lessen 
the  sum  of  human  suffering,  and  to  make  the 
world  better  for  her  living.  If  they  sometimes 
show  the  heat  and  impatience  of  a  zealous  reformer, 
they  may  well  be  pardoned  in  consideration  of  the 
circumstances  under  which  they  were  written,  and 
of  the  natural  indignation  of  a  generous  nature  in 
view  of  wrong  and  oppression.  If  she  touched 
with  no  very  reverent  hand  the  garment  hem  of 
dogmas,  and  held  to  the  spirit  of  Scripture  rather 
than  its  letter,  it  must  be  remembered  that  she 
lived  in  a  time  when  the  Bible  was  cited  in  de- 
fence of  slavery,  as  it  is  now  in  Utah  in  support  of 
polygamy ;  and  she  may  well  be  excused  for  some 
degree  of  impatience  with  those  who,  in  the  tith- 
ing of  mint  and  anise  and  cummin,  neglected 
the  weightier  matters  of  the  law  of  justice  and 
mercy. 

Of  the  men  and  women  directly  associated  with 
the  beloved  subject  of  this  sketch,  but  few  are  now 
left  to  recall  her  single-hearted  devotion  to  appre- 
hended duty,  her  unselfish  generosity,  her  love  of 
all  beauty  and  harmony,  and  her  trustful  rever- 
ence, free  from  pretence  and  cant.  It  is  not  un- 
likely that  the  surviving  sharers  of  her  love  and 
friendship  may  feel  the  inadequateness  of  this  brief 
memorial,  for  I  close  it  with  the  consciousness  of 


308     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

having  failed  to  fully  delineate  the  picture  which 
my  memory  holds  of  a  wise  and  brave,  but  tender 
and  loving  woman,  of  whom  it  might  well  have 
been  said,  in  the  words  of  the  old  Hebrew  text, 
"  Many  daughters  have  done  virtuously,  but  thou 
excellest  them  all." 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  seventy-fifth  birthday  of  Dr.  Holmes  The 
Critic  of  New  York  collected  personal  tributes  from  friends  and 
admirers  of  that  author.  My  own  contribution  was  as  follows :  — 

POET,  essayist,  novelist,  humorist,  scientist,  ripe 
scholar,  and  wise  philosopher,  if  Dr.  Holmes  does 
not,  at  the  present  time,  hold  in  popular  estimation 
the  first  place  in  American  literature,  his  rare  ver- 
satility is  the  cause.  In  view  of  the  inimitable 
prose  writer,  we  forget  the  poet ;  in  our  admiration 
of  his  melodious  verse,  we  lose  sight  of  Elsie  Ven- 
ner  and  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table. 
We  laugh  over  his  wit  and  humor,  until,  to  use  his 
own  words, 

"  We  suspect  the  azure  blossom  that  unfolds  upon  a  shoot, 
As  if  Wisdom's  old  potato  could  not  flourish  at  its  root; " 

and  perhaps  the  next  page  melts  us  into  tears  by 
a  pathos  only  equalled  by  that  of  Sterne's  sick 
Lieutenant.  He  is  Montaigne  and  Bacon  under 
one  hat.  His  varied  qualities  would  suffice  for 
the  mental  furnishing  of  half  a  dozen  literary  spe- 
cialists. 

To  those  who  have  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  his 
intimate  acquaintance,  the  man  himself  is  more 
than  the  author.  His  genial  nature,  entire  free- 
dom from  jealousy  or  envy,  quick  tenderness,  large 
charity,  hatred  of  sham,  pretence,  and  unreality, 
and  his  reverent  sense  of  the  eternal  and  perma- 


310     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

nent  have  secured  for  him  something  more  and 
dearer  than  literary  renown,  —  the  love  of  all  who 
know  him.  I  might  say  much  more  :  I  could  not 
say  less.  May  his  life  be  long  in  the  land. 

AMBSBUBT,  MASS.,  8th  Month,  18,  1884. 


LONGFELLOW. 

Written  to  the  chairman  of  the  committee  of  arrangements  for 
unveiling  the  bust  of  Longfellow  at  Portland,  Maine,  on  the  poet's 
birthday,  February  27,  1885. 

I  AM  sorry  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  accept  the 
invitation  of  the  committee  to  be  present  at  the 
unveiling  of  the  bust  of  Longfellow  on  the  27th 
instant,  or  to  write  anything  worthy  of  the  occasion 
in  metrical  form. 

The  gift  of  the  Westminster  Abbey  committee 
cannot  fail  to  add  another  strong  tie  of  sympa- 
thy between  two  great  English-speaking  peoples. 
And  never  was  gift  more  fitly  bestowed.  The  city 
of  Portland  —  the  poet's  birthplace,  "  beautiful  for 
situation,"  looking  from  its  hills  on  the  scenery  he 
loved  so  well,  Deering's  Oaks,  the  many-islanded 
bay  and  far  inland  mountains,  delectable  in  sunset 
— needed  this  sculptured  representation  of  her  illus- 
trious son,  and  may  well  testify  her  joy  and  grati- 
tude at  its  reception,  and  repeat  in  so  doing  the 
words  of  the  Hebrew  prophet:  "O  man,  greatly 
beloved  !  thou  shalt  stand  in  thy  place." 


OLD  NEWBURY. 

Letter  to  Samuel  J.  Spalding,  D.  D.,  on  the  occasion  of  the  cel- 
ebration of  the  250th  anniversary  of  the  settlement  of  New- 
bury. 

MY  DEAK  FRIEND,  —  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot 
hope  to  be  with  you  on  the  250th  anniversary  of  the 
settlement  of  old  Newbury.  Although  lean  hardly 
call  myself  a  son  of  the  ancient  town,  my  grand- 
mother, Sarah  Greenleaf,  of  blessed  memory,  was 
its  daughter,  and  I  may  therefore  claim  to  be  its 
grandson.  Its  genial  and  learned  historian,  Joshua 
Coffin,  was  my  first  school-teacher,  and  all  my  life 
I  have  lived  in  sight  of  its  green  hills  and  in  hear- 
ing of  its  Sabbath  bells.  Its  wealth  of  natural 
beauty  has  not  been  left  unsung  by  its  own  poets, 
Hannah  Gould,  Mrs.  Hopkins,  George  Lunt,  and 
Edward  A.  Washburn,  while  Harriet  Prescott 
Spofford's  Plum  Island  Sound  is  as  sweet  and 
musical  as  Tennyson's  Brook.  Its  history  and 
legends  are  familiar  to  me.  I  seem  to  have  known 
all  its  old  worthies,  whose  descendants  have  helped 
to  people  a  continent,  and  who  have  carried  the 
name  and  memories  of  their  birthplace  to  the  Mex- 
ican gulf  and  across  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  the 
shores  of  the  Pacific.  They  were  the  best  and  se- 
lectest  of  Puritanism,  brave,  honest,  God-fearing 
men  and  women ;  and  if  their  creed  in  the  lapse  of 
time  has  lost  something  of  its  vigor,  the  influence 


Old  Newbury 


OLD  NEWBURY  313 

of  their  ethical  righteousness  still  endures.  The 
prophecy  of  Samuel  Sewall  that  Christians  should 
be  found  in  Newbury  so  long  as  pigeons  shall  roost 
on  its  oaks  and  Indian  corn  grows  in  Oldtown 
fields  remains  still  true,  and  we  trust  will  always 
remain  so.  Yet,  as  of  old,  the  evil  personage 
sometimes  intrudes  himself  into  company  too  good 
for  him.  It  was  said  in  the  witchcraft  trials  of 
1692  that  Satan  baptized  his  converts  at  New- 
bury Falls,  the  scene,  probably,  of  one  of  Haw- 
thorne's weird  Twice  Told  Tales;  and  there  is 
a  tradition  that,  in  the  midst  of  a  heated  contro- 
versy between  one  of  Newbury's  painful  minis- 
ters and  his  deacon,  who  (anticipating  Garrison  by 
a  century)  ventured  to  doubt  the  propriety  of 
clerical  slaveholding,  the  Adversary  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  the  shape  of  a  black  giant  stalking 
through  Byfield.  It  was  never,  I  believe,  defi- 
nitely settled  whether  he  was  drawn  there  by  the 
minister's  zeal  in  defence  of  slavery  or  the  deacon's 
irreverent  denial  of  the  minister's  right  and  duty 
to  curse  Canaan  in  the  person  of  his  negro. 

Old  Newbury  has  sometimes  been  spoken  of  as 
ultra-conservative  and  hostile  to  new  ideas  and 
progress,  but  this  is  not  warranted  by  it's  history. 
More  than  two  centuries  ago,  when  Major  Pike, 
just  across  the  river,  stood  up  and  denounced  in 
open  town  meeting  the  law  against  freedom  of 
conscience  and  worship,  and  was  in  consequence 
fined  and  outlawed,  some  of  Newbury's  best  citi- 
zens stood  bravely  by  him.  The  town  took  no  part 
in  the  witchcraft  horror,  and  got  none  of  its  old 
women  and  town  charges  hanged  for  witches. 


314     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

"  Goody  "  Morse  had  the  spirit  rappings  in  her 
house  two  hundred  years  earlier  than  the  Fox  girls 
did,  and  somewhat  later  a  Newbury  minister,  in 
wig  and  knee-buckles,  rode,  Bible  in  hand,  over  to 
Hampton  to  lay  a  ghost  who  had  materialized  him- 
self and  was  stamping  up  and  down  stairs  in  his 
military  boots. 

Newbury's  ingenious  citizen,  Jacob  Perkins,  in 
drawing  out  diseases  with  his  metallic  tractors,  was 
quite  as  successful  as  modern  "  faith  and  mind  " 
doctors.  The  Quakers,  whipped  at  Hampton  on 
one  hand  and  at  Salem  on  the  other,  went  back 
and  forth  unmolested  in  Newbury,  for  they  could 
make  no  impression  on  its  iron-clad  orthodoxy. 
Whitefield  set  the  example,  since  followed  by  the 
Salvation  Army,  of  preaching  in  its  streets,  and 
now  lies  buried  under  one  of  its  churches  with 
almost  the  honors  of  sainthood.  William  Lloyd 
Garrison  was  born  in  Newbury.  The  town  must 
be  regarded  as  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  anti-slavery 
agitation,  beginning  with  its  abolition  deacon  and 
ending  with  Garrison.  Puritanism,  here  as  else- 
where, had  a  flavor  of  radicalism ;  it  had  its  hu- 
morous side,  and  its  ministers  did  not  hesitate  to 
use  wit  and  sarcasm,  like  Elijah  before  the  priests 
of  Baal.  As,  for  instance,  the  wise  and  learned 
clergyman,  Puritan  of  the  Puritans,  beloved  and 
reverenced  by  all,  who  has  just  laid  down  the  bur- 
den of  his  nearly  one  hundred  years,  startled  and 
shamed  his  brother  ministers  who  were  zealously 
for  the  enforcement  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  by 
preparing  for  them  a  form  of  prayer  for  use  while 
engaged  in  catching  runaway  slaves. 


OLD  NEW  BURY  315 

I  have,  I  fear,  dwelt  too  long  upon  the  story  and 
tradition  of  the  old  town,  which  will  doubtless  be 
better  told  by  the  orator  of  the  day.  The  theme 
is  to  me  full  of  interest.  Among  the  blessings 
which  I  would  gratefully  own  is  the  fact  that  my 
lot  has  been  cast  in  the  beautiful  valley  of  the 
Merrimac,  within  sight  of  Newbury  steeples,  Plum 
Island,  and  Crane  Neck  and  Pipe  Stave  hills. 

Let  me,  in  closing,  pay  something  of  the  debt  I 
have  owed  from  boyhood,  by  expressing  a  senti- 
ment in  which  I  trust  every  son  of  the  ancient 
town  will  unite  :  Joshua  Coffin,  historian  of  New- 
bury, teacher,  scholar,  and  antiquarian,  and  one 
of  the  earliest  advocates  of  slave  emancipation : 
May  his  memory  be  kept  green,  to  use  the  words 
of  Judge  Sewall,  "  so  long  as  Plum  Island  keeps 
its  post  and  a  sturgeon  leaps  in  Merrimac  River." 

AMESBURY,  6th  Month,  1885. 


SCHOOLDAY  KEMEMBEANCES. 

To  Rev.  Charles  Wlngate,  Hon.  James  H.  Carle- 
ton,  Thomas  B.  Garland,  Esq.,  Committee  of 
Students  of  Haverhill  Academy  : 
DEAR  FRIENDS,  —  I  was  most  agreeably  sur- 
prised last  evening  by  receiving  your  carefully  pre- 
pared and  beautiful  Haverhill  Academy  Album, 
containing  the  photographs  of  a  large  number  of 
my  old  friends  and  schoolmates.  I  know  of  noth- 
ing which  could  have  given  me  more  pleasure.  If 
the  faces  represented  are  not  so  unlined  and  ruddy 
as  those  which  greeted  each  other  at  the  old  acad- 
emy, on  the  pleasant  summer  mornings  so  long 
ago,  when  life  was  before  us,  with  its  boundless 
horizon  of  possibilities,  yet,  as  I  look  over  them,  I 
see  that,  on  the  whole,  Time  has  not  been  hard 
with  us,  but  has  touched  us  gently.  The  hiero- 
glyphics he  has  traced  upon  us  may,  indeed,  reveal 
something  of  the  cares,  trials,  and  sorrows  incident 
to  humanity,  but  they  also  tell  of  generous  endeavor, 
beneficent  labor,  developed  character,  and  the  slow, 
sure  victories  of  patience  and  fortitude.  I  turn  to 
them  with  the  proud  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  I 
have  been  highly  favored  in  my  early  companions, 
and  that  I  have  not  been  disappointed  in  my  school 
friendships.  The  two  years  spent  at  the  academy 
I  have  always  reckoned  among  the  happiest  of  my 
life,  though  I  have  abundant  reason  for  gratitude 


SCHOOLDAY  REMEMBRANCES         317 

that,  in  the  long,  intervening  years,  I  have  been 
blessed  beyond  my  deserving. 

It  has  been  our  privilege  to  live  in  an  eventful 
period,  and  to  witness  wonderful  changes  since  we 
conned  our  lessons  together.  How  little  we  then 
dreamed  of  the  steam  car,  electric  telegraph,  and 
telephone !  We  studied  the  history  and  geography 
of  a  world  only  half  explored.  Our  country  was 
an  unsolved  mystery.  "  The  Great  American 
Desert "  was  an  awful  blank  on  our  school  maps. 
We  have  since  passed  through  the  terrible  ordeal 
of  civil  war,  which  has  liberated  enslaved  millions, 
and  made  the  union  of  the  States  an  established 
fact,  and  no  longer  a  doubtful  theory.  If  life  is 
to  be  measured  not  so  much  by  years  as  by  thoughts, 
emotion,  knowledge,  action,  and  its  opportunity  of 
a  free  exercise  of  all  our  powers  and  faculties,  we 
may  congratulate  ourselves  upon  really  outliving 
the  venerable  patriarchs.  For  myself,  I  would  not 
exchange  a  decade  of  my  own  life  for  a  century  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  or  a  "  cycle  of  Cathay." 

Let  me,  gentlemen,  return  my  heartiest  thanks 
to  you,  and  to  all  who  have  interested  themselves 
in  the  preparation  of  the  Academy  Album,  and 
assure  you  of  my  sincere  wishes  for  your  health 
and  happiness. 

OAK  KNOLL,  DANVEBS,  12th  Month,  25,  1885. 


EDWIN  PERCY  WHIFFLE. 

I  HAVE  been  pained  to  learn  of  the  decease 
of  my  friend  of  many  years,  Edwin  P.  Whipple. 
Death,  however  expected,  is  always  something  of  a 
surprise,  and  in  his  case  I  was  not  prepared  for  it 
by  knowing  of  any  serious  failure  of  his  health. 
With  the  possible  exception  of  Lowell  and  Matthew 
Arnold,  he  was  the  ablest  critical  essayist  of  his 
time,  and  the  place  he  has  left  will  not  be  readily 
filled. 

Scarcely  inferior  to  Macaulay  in  brilliance  of 
diction  and  graphic  portraiture,  he  was  freer  from 
prejudice  and  passion,  and  more  loyal  to  the  truth 
of  fact  and  history.  He  was  a  thoroughly  honest 
man.  He  wrote  with  conscience  always  at  his 
elbow,  and  never  sacrificed  his  real  convictions  for 
the  sake  of  epigram  and  antithesis.  He  instinc- 
tively took  the  right  side  of  the  questions  that  came 
before  him  for  decision,  even  when  by  so  doing  he 
ranked  himself  with  the  unpopular  minority.  He 
had  the  manliest  hatred  of  hypocrisy  and  mean- 
ness ;  but  if  his  language  had  at  times  the  severity 
of  justice,  it  was  never  merciless.  He  "  set  down 
naught  in  malice." 

Never  blind  to  faults,  he  had  a  quick  and  sym- 
pathetic eye  for  any  real  excellence  or  evidence  of 
reserved  strength  in  the  author  under  discussion. 


EDWIN  PERCY  WHIPPLE  319 

He  was  a  modest  man,  sinking  his  own  personality 
out  of  sight,  and  he  always  seemed  to  me  more 
interested  in  the  success  of  others  than  in  his  own. 
Many  of  his  literary  contemporaries  have  had 
reason  to  thank  him  not  only  for  his  cordial  recog- 
nition and  generous  praise,  but  for  the  firm  and 
yet  kindly  hand  which  pointed  out  deficiencies  and 
errors  of  taste  and  judgment.  As  one  of  those 
who  have  found  pleasure  and  profit  in  his  writings 
in  the  past,  I  would  gratefully  commend  them  to 
the  generation  which  survives  him.  His  Litera- 
ture of  the  Age  of  Elizabeth  is  deservedly  popular, 
but  there  are  none  of  his  Essays  which  will  not 
repay  a  careful  study.  "  What  works  of  Mr.  Bax- 
ter shall  I  read  ?  "  asked  Boswell  of  Dr.  Johnson. 
"  Read  any  of  them,"  was  the  answer,  "  for  they 
are  all  good." 

He  will  have  an  honored  place  in  the  history  of 
American  literature.  But  I  cannot  now  dwell 
upon  his  authorship  while  thinking  of  him  as  the 
beloved  member  of  a  literary  circle  now,  alas ! 
sadly  broken.  I  recall  the  wise,  genial  companion 
and  faithful  friend  of  nearly  half  a  century,  the 
memory  of  whose  words  and  acts  of  kindness 
moistens  my  eyes  as  I  write. 

It  is  the  inevitable  sorrow  of  age  that  one's  com- 
panions must  drop  away  on  the  right  hand  and  the 
left  with  increasing  frequency,  until  we  are  com- 
pelled to  ask  with  Wordsworth,  — 

"  Who  next  shall  fall  and  disappear  ?  " 

But  in  the  case  of  him  who  has  just  passed  from 


320     PERSONAL  SKETCHES  AND  TRIBUTES 

us,  we  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  his 
life-work  has  been  well  and  faithfully  done,  and 
that  he  leaves  behind  him  only  friends. 

DANVEKS,  6th  Month,  18,  1886. 


HISTORICAL  PAPERS 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL. 

In  February,  1839,  Henry  Clay  delivered  a  speech  in  the 
United  States  Senate,  which  was  intended  to  smooth  away  the 
difficulties  which  his  moderate  opposition  to  the  encroachments 
of  slavery  had  erected  in  his  path  to  the  presidency.  His  calum- 
niation of  O'Connell  called  out  the  following1  summary  of  the 
career  of  the  great  Irish  patriot.  It  was  published  originally  in 
the  Pennsylvania  Freeman  of  Philadelphia,  April  25,  1839. 

PERHAPS  the  most  unlucky  portion  of  the  un- 
lucky speech  of  Henry  Clay  on  the  slavery  ques- 
tion is  that  in  which  an  attempt  is  made  to  hold 
up  to  scorn  and  contempt  the  great  Liberator  of 
Ireland.  We  say  an  attempt,  for  who  will  say  it 
has  succeeded  ?  Who  feels  contempt  for  O'Con- 
nell? Surely  not  the  slaveholder?  From  Henry 
Clay,  surrounded  by  his  slave-gang  at  Ashland,  to 
the  most  miserable  and  squalid  slave-driver  and 
small  breeder  of  human  cattle  in  Virginia  and 
Maryland  who  can  spell  the  name  of  O'Counell 
in  his  newspaper,  these  republican  brokers  in  blood 
fear  and  hate  the  eloquent  Irishman.  But  their 
contempt,  forsooth !  Talk  of  the  sheep-stealer's 
contempt  for  the  officer  of  justice  who  nails  his 
ears  to  the  pillory,  or  sets  the  branding  iron  on 
his  forehead ! 


322  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

After  denouncing  the  abolitionists  for  gratui- 
tously republishing  the  advertisements  for  runaway 
slaves,  the  Kentucky  orator  says  :  — 

"And  like  a  notorious  agitator  upon  another 
theatre,  they  would  hunt  down  and  proscribe  from 
the  pale  of  civilized  society  the  inhabitants  of  that 
entire  section.  Allow  me,  Mr.  President,  to  say 
that  whilst  I  recognize  in  the  justly  wounded  feel- 
ings of  the  Minister  of  the  United  States  at  the 
Court  of  St.  James  much  to  excuse  the  notice 
which  he  was  provoked  to  take  of  that  agitator, 
in  my  humble  opinion  he  would  better  have  con- 
sulted the  dignity  of  his  station  and  of  his  country 
in  treating  him  with  contemptuous  silence.  He 
would  exclude  us  from  European  society,  he  who 
himself  can  only  obtain  a  contraband  admission, 
and  is  received  with  scornfid  repugnance  into  it ! 
If  he  be  no  more  desirous  of  our  society  than  we 
are  of  his,  he  may  rest  assured  that  a  state  of  per- 
petual non-intercourse  will  exist  between  us.  Yes, 
sir,  I  think  the  American  Minister  would  best  have 
pursued  the  dictates  of  true  dignity  by  regarding 
the  language  of  the  member  of  the  British  House 
of  Commons  as  the  malignant  ravings  of  the 
plunderer  of  his  own  country,  and  the  libeller  of 
a  foreign  and  kindred  people." 

The  recoil  of  this  attack  "  followed  hard  upon  " 
the  tones  of  congratulation  and  triumph  of  parti- 
san editors  at  the  consummate  skill  and  dexter- 
ity with  which  their  candidate  for  the  presidency 
had  absolved  himself  from  the  suspicion  of  aboli- 
tionism, and  by  a  master-stroke  of  policy  secured 
the  confidence  of  the  slaveholding  section  of  the 


DANIEL   0' CON NELL  323 

Union.  But  the  late  Whig  defeat  in  New  York 
has  put  an  end  to  these  premature  rejoicings. 
"  The  speech  of  Mr.  Clay  in  reference  to  the  Irish 
agitator  has  been  made  use  of  against  us  with  no 
small  success,"  say  the  New  York  papers.  "  They 
failed,"  says  the  Daily  Evening  Star,  "to  con- 
vince the  Irish  voters  that  Daniel  O'Connell  was 
the  '  plunderer  of  his  country,'  or  that  there  was  an 
excuse  for  thus  denouncing  him." 

The  defeat  of  the  Whigs  of  New  York  and  the 
cause  of  it  have  excited  no  small  degree  of  alarm 
among  the  adherents  of  the  Kentucky  orator.  In 
this  city,  the  delicate  Philadelphia  Gazette  comes 
magnanimously  to  the  aid  of  Henry  Clay,  — 

"A  torn-tit  twittering  on  an  eagle's  back." 

The  learned  editor  gives  it  as  his  opinion  that 
Daniel  O'Connell  is  a  "  political  beggar,"  a  "  dis- 
organizing apostate ;  "  talks  in  its  pretty  way  of 
the  man's  "  impudence  "  and  "  falsehoods  "  and 
"  cowardice,"  etc. ;  and  finally,  with  a  modesty  and 
gravity  which  we  cannot  but  admire,  assures  us 
that  "  his  weakness  of  mind  is  almost  beyond 
calculation  "  / 

We  have  heard  it  rumored  during  the  past 
week,  among  some  of  the  self-constituted  organs  of 
the  Clay  party  in  this  city,  that  at  a  late  meeting 
in  Chestnut  Street  a  committee  was  appointed  to 
collect,  collate,  and  publish  the  correspondence 
between  Andrew  Stevenson  and  O'Connell,  and  so 
much  of  the  latter's  speeches  and  writings  as  re- 
late to  American  slavery,  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
vincing the  countrymen  of  O'Connell  of  the  jus- 


324  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

tice,  propriety,  and,  in  view  of  the  aggravated  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  moderation  and  forbear- 
ance of  Henry  Clay  when  speaking  of  a  man  who 
has  had  the  impudence  to  intermeddle  with  the 
"  patriarchal  institutions  "  of  our  country,  and  with 
the  "  domestic  relations "  of  Kentucky  and  Vir- 
ginia slave-traders. 

We  wait  impatiently  for  the  fruits  of  the  labors 
of  this  sagacious  committee.  We  should  like  to 
see  those  eloquent  and  thrilling  appeals  to  the 
sense  of  shame  and  justice  and  honor  of  America 
republished.  We  should  like  to  see  if  any  Irish- 
man, not  wholly  recreant  to  the  interests  and  wel- 
fare of  the  Green  Island  of  his  birth,  will  in  con- 
sequence of  this  publication  give  his  vote  to  the 
slanderer  of  Ireland's  best  and  noblest  champion. 

But  who  is  Daniel  O'Connell  ?  "A  demagogue 
—  a  ruffian  agitator!"  say  the  Tory  journals  of 
Great  Britain,  quaking  meantime  with  awe  and 
apprehension  before  the  tremendous  moral  and 
political  power  which  he  is  wielding,  —  a  power  at 
this  instant  mightier  than  that  of  any  potentate  of 
Europe.  "  A  blackguard  "  —  a  fellow  who  "  ob- 
tains contraband  admission  into  European  soci- 
ety "  —  a  "  malignant  libeller  "  —  a  "  plunderer  of 
his  country "  —  a  man  whose  "  wind  should  be 
stopped,"  say  the  American  slaveholders,  and 
their  apologists,  Clay,  Stevenson,  Hamilton,  and 
the  Philadelphia  Gazette,  and  the  Democratic 
Whig  Association. 

But  who  is  Daniel  O'Connell?  Ireland  now 
does  justice  to  him,  the  world  will  do  so  hereafter. 
No  individual  of  the  present  age  has  done  more  for 


DANIEL   0' CONN  ELL  325 

human  liberty.  His  labors  to  effect  the  peaceable 
deliverance  of  his  own  oppressed  countrymen,  and 
to  open  to  the  nations  of  Europe  a  new  and  purer 
and  holier  pathway  to  freedom  unstained  with 
blood  and  un  moistened  by  tears,  and  his  mighty 
instrumentality  in  the  abolition  of  British  colonial 
slavery,  have  left  their  impress  upon  the  age.  They 
will  be  remembered  and  felt  beneficially  long 
after  the  miserable  slanders  of  Tory  envy  and  ma- 
lignity at  home,  and  the  clamors  of  slaveholders 
abroad,  detected  in  their  guilt,  and  writhing  in 
the  gaze  of  Christendom,  shall  have  perished  for- 
ever, —  when  the  Clays  and  Calhouns,  the  Peels 
and  Wellingtons,  the  opponents  of  reform  in 
Great  Britain  and  the  enemies  of  slave  emancipa- 
tion in  the  United  States,  shall  be  numbered  with 
those  who  in  all  ages,  to  use  the  words  of  the  elo- 
quent Lamartine,  have  "  sinned  against  the  Holy 
Ghost  in  opposing  the  improvement  of  things,  —  in 
an  egotistical  and  stupid  attempt  to  draw  back  the 
moral  and  social  world  which  God  and  nature  are 
urging  forward." 

The  character  and  services  of  O'Connell  have 
never  been  fully  appreciated  in  this  country.  En- 
grossed in  our  own  peculiar  interests,  and  in  the 
plenitude  of  our  self-esteem ;  believing  that  "  we 
are  the  people,  and  that  wisdom  will  perish  with 
us,"  that  all  patriotism  and  liberality  of  feeling 
are  confined  to  our  own  territory,  we  have  not  fol- 
lowed the  untitled  Barrister  of  Derrynane  Abbey, 
step  by  step,  through  the  development  of  one  of 
the  noblest  experiments  ever  made  for  the  cause  of 
liberty  and  the  welfare  of  man. 


326  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

The  revolution  which  O'Connell  has  already  par- 
tially effected  in  his  native  land,  and  which,  from 
the  evident  signs  of  cooperation  in  England  and 
Scotland,  seems  not  far  from  its  entire  accomplish- 
ment, will  form  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  the 
civilized  world.  Heretofore  the  patriot  has  relied 
more  upon  physical  than  moral  means  for  the  re- 
generation of  his  country  and  its  redemption  from 
oppression.  His  revolutions,  however  pure  in  prin- 
ciple, have  ended  in  practical  crime.  The  great 
truth  was  yet  to  be  learned  that  brute  force  is  in- 
compatible with  a  pure  love  of  freedom,  inasmuch 
as  it  is  in  itself  an  odious  species  of  tyranny  —  the 
relic  of  an  age  of  slavery  and  barbarism  —  the 
common  argument  of  despotism  —  a  game 

"  which,  were  their  subjects  "wise, 
Kings  would  not  play  at." 

But  the  revolution  in  which  O'Connell  is  engaged, 
although  directed  against  the  oppression  of  centu- 
ries, relies  with  just  confidence  upon  the  united 
moral  energies  of  the  people :  a  moral  victory  of 
reason  over  prejudice,  of  justice  over  oppression ; 
the  triumph  of  intellectual  energy  where  the  brute 
appeal  to  arms  had  miserably  failed ;  the  vindi- 
cation of  man's  eternal  rights,  not  by  the  sword 
fleshed  in  human  hearts,  but  by  weapons  tempered 
in  the  armory  of  Heaven  with  truth  and  mercy 
and  love. 

Nor  is  it  a  visionary  idea,  or  the  untried  theory 
of  an  enthusiast,  this  triumphant  reliance  upon 
moral  and  intellectual  power  for  the  reform  of  po- 
litical abuses,  for  the  overthrowing  of  tyranny  and 
the  pulling  down  of  the  strongholds  of  arbitrary 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL  327 

power.  The  emancipation  of  the  Catholic  of  Great 
Britain  from  the  thrall  of  a  century,  in  1829,  pre- 
pared the  way  for  the  bloodless  triumph  of  Eng- 
lish reform  in  1832.  The  Catholic  Association 
was  the  germ  of  those  political  unions  which  com- 
pelled, by  their  mighty  yet  peaceful  influence,  the 
King  of  England  to  yield  submissively  to  the  su- 
premacy of  the  people.1  Both  of  these  remarkable 
events,  these  revolutions  shaking  nations  to  their 
centre,  yet  polluted  with  no  blood  and  sullied  by  no 
crime,  were  effected  by  the  salutary  agitations  of 
the  public  mind,  first  set  in  motion  by  the  master- 
spirit of  O'Connell,  and  spreading  from  around 
him  to  every  portion  of  the  British  empire  like  the 
undulations  from  the  disturbed  centre  of  a  lake. 

The  Catholic  question  has  been  but  imperfectly 
understood  in  this  country.  Many  have  allowed 
their  just  disapprobation  of  the  Catholic  religion 
to  degenerate  into  a  most  unwarrantable  preju- 
dice against  its  conscientious  followers.  The  cruel 
persecutions  of  the  dissenters  from  the  Romish 
Church,  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew's  day, 
the  horrors  of  the  Inquisition,  the  crusades  against 
the  Albigenses  and  the  simple  dwellers  of  the  Vau- 
dois  valleys,  have  been  regarded  as  atrocities  pecu- 
liar to  the  believers  in  papal  infallibility,  and  the 
necessary  consequences  of  their  doctrines ;  and 
hence  they  have  looked  upon  the  constitutional  agi- 

1  The  celebrated  Mr.  Attwood  has  been  called  the  "  father  of 
political  unions."  In  a  speech  delivered  by  his  brother,  C.  Att- 
wood, Esq.,  at  the  Sunderland  Reform  Meeting,  September  10, 
1832,  I  find  the  following  admission :  "  Gentlemen,  the  first  politi- 
cal union  was  the  Roman  Catholic  Association  of  Ireland,  and  the 
true  founder  and  father  of  political  unions  is  Daniel  O'Connell." 


328  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

tation  of  the  Irish  Catholics  for  relief  from  griev- 
ous  disabilities  and  unjust  distinctions  as  a  strug- 
gle merely  for  supremacy  or  power. 

Strange,  that  the  truth  to  which  all  history  so 
strongly  testifies  should  thus  be  overlooked,  —  the 
undeniable  truth  that  religious  bigotry  and  intol- 
erance have  been  confined  to  no  single  sect ;  that 
the  persecuted  of  one  century  have  been  the  perse- 
cutors of  another.  In  our  own  country,  it  would 
be  well  for  us  to  remember  that  at  the  very  time 
when  in  New  England  the  Catholic,  the  Quaker, 
and  the  Baptist  were  banished  on  pain  of  death, 
and  where  some  even  suffered  that  dreadful  pen- 
alty, in  Catholic  Maryland,  under  the  Catholic 
Lord  Baltimore,  perfect  liberty  of  conscience  was 
established,  and  Papist  and  Protestant  went  quietly 
through  the  same  streets  to  their  respective  altars. 

At  the  commencement  of  O'Connell's  labors  for 
emancipation  he  found  the  people  of  Ireland  di- 
vided into  three  great  classes,  —  the  Protestant  or 
Church  party,  the  Dissenters,  and  the  Catholics : 
the  Church  party  constituting  about  one  tenth  of 
the  population,  yet  holding  in  possession  the  gov- 
ernment and  a  great  proportion  of  the  landed 
property  of  Ireland,  controlling  church  and  state 
and  law  and  revenue,  the  army,  navy,  magistracy, 
and  corporations,  the  entire  patronage  of  the  coun- 
try, holding  their  property  and  power  by  the  favor 
of  England,  and  consequently  wholly  devoted  to 
her  interest ;  the  Dissenters,  probably  twice  as  nu- 
merous as  the  Church  party,  mostly  engaged  in 
trade  and  manufactures,  sustained  by  their  own 
talents  and  industry,  Irish  in  feeling,  partaking  in 


DANIEL   0' CON  NELL  329 

no  small  degree  of  the  oppression  of  their  Catholic 
brethren,  and  among  the  first  to  resist  that  oppres- 
sion in  1782 ;  the  Catholics  constituting  at  least 
two  thirds  of  the  whole  population,  and  almost 
the  entire  peasantry  of  the  country,  forming  a 
large  proportion  of  the  mercantile  interest,  yet 
nearly  excluded  from  the  possession  of  landed 
property  by  the  tyrannous  operation  of  the  penal 
laws.  Justly  has  a  celebrated  Irish  patriot  (Theo- 
bald Wolfe  Tone)  spoken  of  these  laws  as  "an 
execrable  and  infamous  code,  framed  with  the  art 
and  malice  of  demons  to  plunder  and  degrade  and 
brutalize  the  Catholics  of  Ireland.  There  was  no 
disgrace,  no  injustice,  no  disqualification,  moral, 
political,  or  religious,  civil  or  military,  which  it 
has  not  heaped  upon  them." 

The  following  facts  relative  to  the  disabilities 
under  which  the  Catholics  of  the  United  Kingdom 
labored  previous  to  the  emancipation  of  1829  will 
serve  to  show  in  some  measure  the  oppressive  oper- 
ation of  those  laws  which  placed  the  foot  of  one 
tenth  of  the  population  of  Ireland  upon  the  necks 
of  the  remainder. 

A  Catholic  peer  could  not  sit  in  the  House  of 
Peers,  nor  a  Catholic  commoner  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  A  Catholic  could  not  be  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, or  Keeper,  or  Commissioner  of  the  Great 
Seal ;  Master  or  Keeper  of  the  Rolls ;  Justice  of 
the  King's  Bench  or  of  the  Common  Pleas ;  Baron 
of  the  Exchequer ;  Attorney  or  Solicitor  General ; 
King's  Sergeant  at  Law;  Member  of  the  King's 
Council ;  Master  in  Chancery,  nor  Chairman  of 
Sessions  for  the  County  of  Dublin.  He  could  not 


330  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

be  the  Recorder  of  a  city  or  town ;  an  advocate  in 
the  spiritual  courts ;  Sheriff  of  a  county,  city,  or 
town ;  Sub-Sheriff ;  Lord  Lieutenant,  Lord  Deputy, 
or  other  governor  of  Ireland ;  Lord  High  Treas- 
urer ;  Governor  of  a  county ;  Privy  Councillor ; 
Postmaster  General ;  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
or  Secretary  of  State ;  Vice  Treasurer,  Cashier  of 
the  Exchequer ;  Keeper  of  the  Privy  Seal  or  Audi- 
tor General ;  Provost  or  Fellow  of  Dublin  Univer- 
sity ;  nor  Lord  Mayor  or  Alderman  of  a  corporate 
city  or  town.  He  could  not  be  a  member  of  a  par- 
ish vestry,  nor  bequeath  any  sum  of  money  or  any 
lands  for  the  maintenance  of  a  clergyman,  or  for 
the  support  of  a  chapel  or  a  school ;  and  in  corpo- 
rate towns  he  was  excluded  from  the  grand  juries. 
O'Connell  commenced  his  labors  for  emancipa- 
tion with  the  strong  conviction  that  nothing  short 
of  the  united  exertions  of  the  Irish  people  could 
overthrow  the  power  of  the  existing  government, 
and  that  a  union  of  action  could  only  be  obtained 
by  the  establishment  of  something  like  equality  be- 
tween the  different  religious  parties.  Discarding 
all  other  than  peaceful  means  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  purpose,  he  placed  himself  and  his  fol- 
lowers beyond  the  cognizance  of  unjust  and  op- 
pressive laws.  Wherever  he  poured  the  oil  of 
his  eloquence  upon  the  maddened  spirits  of  his 
wronged  and  insulted  countrymen,  the  mercenary 
soldiery  found  no  longer  an  excuse  for  violence  ; 
and  calm,  firm,  and  united,  the  Catholic  Association 
remained  secure  in  the  moral  strength  of  its  pure 
and  peaceful  purpose,  amid  the  bayonets  of  a  Tory 
administration.  His  influence  was  felt  in  all  parts 


DANIEL   0' CON  NELL  331 

of  the  island.  Wherever  an  unlawful  association 
existed,  his  great  legal  knowledge  enabled  him 
at  once  to  detect  its  character,  and,  by  urging  its 
dissolution,  to  snatch  its  deluded  members  from 
the  ready  fangs  of  their  enemies.  In  his  presence  the 
Catholic  and  the  Protestant  shook  hands  together, 
and  the  wild  Irish  clansman  forgot  his  feuds.  He 
taught  the  party  in  power,  and  who  trembled  at 
the  dangers  around  them,  that  security  and  peace 
could  only  be  obtained  by  justice  and  kindness. 
He  entreated  his  oppressed  Catholic  brethren  to 
lay  aside  their  weapons,  and  with  pure  hearts  and 
naked  hands  to  stand  firmly  together  in  the  calm 
but  determined  energy  of  men,  too  humane  for 
deeds  of  violence,  yet  too  mighty  for  the  patient 
endurance  of  wrong. 

The  spirit  of  the  olden  time  was  awakened,  of 
the  day  when  Flood  thundered  and  Curran  light- 
ened ;  the  light  which  shone  for  a  moment  in  the 
darkness  of  Ireland's  century  of  wrong  burned 
upwards  clearly  and  steadily  from  all  its  ancient 
altars.  Shoulder  to  shoulder  gathered  around  him 
the  patriot  spirits  of  his  nation,  —  men  unbribed 
by  the  golden  spoils  of  governmental  patronage : 
Shiel  with  his  ardent  eloquence,  O'Dwyer  and 
Walsh,  and  Grattan  and  O'Connor,  and  Steel,  the 
Protestant  agitator,  wearing  around  him  the  em- 
blem of  national  reconciliation,  of  the  reunion  of 
Catholic  and  Protestant,  —  the  sash  of  blended 
orange  and  green,  soiled  and  defaced  by  his  patri- 
otic errands,  stained  with  the  smoke  of  cabins,  and 
the  night  rains  and  rust  of  weapons,  and  the  moun- 
tain mist,  and  the  droppings  of  the  wild  woods 


332  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

of  Clare.  He  united  in  one  mighty  and  resistless 
mass  the  broken  and  discordant  factions,  whose 
desultory  struggles  against  tyranny  had  hitherto 
only  added  strength  to  its  fetters,  and  infused  into 
that  mass  his  own  lofty  principles  of  action,  until 
the  solemn  tones  of  expostulation  and  entreaty, 
bursting  at  once  from  the  full  heart  of  Ireland, 
were  caught  up  by  England  and  echoed  back  from 
Scotland,  and  the  language  of  justice  and  humanity 
was  wrung  from  the  reluctant  lips  of  the  cold  and 
remorseless  oppressor  of  his  native  land,  at  once 
its  disgrace  and  glory,  —  the  conqueror  of  Napo- 
leon ;  and,  in  the  words  of  his  own  Curran,  the 
chains  of  the  Catholic  fell  from  around  him,  and 
he  stood  forth  redeemed  and  disenthralled  by  the 
irresistible  genius  of  Universal  Emancipation. 

On  the  passage  of  the  bill  for  Catholic  eman- 
cipation, O'Connell  took  his  seat  in  the  British 
Parliament.  The  eyes  of  millions  were  upon  him. 
Ireland  —  betrayed  so  often  by  those  in  whom 
she  had  placed  her  confidence;  brooding  in  sor- 
rowful remembrance  over  the  noble  names  and 
brilliant  reputations  sullied  by  treachery  and  cor- 
ruption, the  long  and  dark  catalogue  of  her  rec- 
reant sous,  who,  allured  by  British  gold  and  Brit- 
ish patronage,  had  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  their 
ambition  Irish  pride  and  Irish  independence,  and 
lifted  their  parricidal  arms  against  their  sorrow- 
ing mother,  "  crownless  and  voiceless  in  her  woe  " 
— now  hung  with  breathless  eagerness  over  the 
ordeal  to  which  her  last  great  champion  was  sub- 
jected. 

The   crisis   in   O'Connell's   destiny  had  come. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL  333 

The  glitter  of  the  golden  bribe  was  in  his  eye  ;  the 
sound  of  titled  magnificence  was  in  his  ear;  the 
choice  was  before  him  to  sit  high  among  the  hon- 
orable, the  titled,  and  the  powerful,  or  to  take  his 
humble  seat  in  the  hall  of  St.  Stephen's  as  the 
Irish  demagogue,  the  agitator,  the  Kerry  repre- 
sentative. He  did  not  hesitate  in  his  choice.  On 
the  first  occasion  that  offered  he  told  the  story  of 
Ireland's  wrongs,  and  demanded  justice  in  the 
name  of  his  suffering  constituents.  He  had  put 
his  hand  to  the  plough  of  reform,  and  he  could  not 
relinquish  his  hold,  for  his  heart  was  with  it. 

Determined  to  give  the  Whig  administration  no 
excuse  for  neglecting  the  redress  of  Irish  griev- 
ances, he  entered  heart  and  soul  into  the  great 
measure  of  English  reform,  and  his  zeal,  tact,  and 
eloquence  contributed  not  a  little  to  its  success. 
Yet  even  his  friends  speak  of  his  first  efforts  in 
the  House  of  Commons  as  failures.  The  Irish 
accent ;  the  harsh  avowal  of  purposes  smacking  of 
rebellion ;  the  eccentricities  and  flowery  luxuri- 
ance of  an  eloquence  nursed  in  the  fervid  atmos- 
phere of  Ireland  suddenly  transplanted  to  the 
cold  and  commonplace  one  of  St.  Stephen's ;  the 
great  and  illiberal  prejudices  against  him  scarcely 
abated  from  what  they  were  when,  as  the  member 
from  Clare,  he  was  mobbed  on  his  way  to  London, 
for  a  time  opposed  a  barrier  to  the  influence  of 
his  talents  and  patriotism.  But  he  triumphed  at 
last :  the  mob-orator  of  Clare  and  Kerry,  the  de- 
claimer  in  the  Dublin  Rooms  of  the  Political  and 
Trades'  Union,  became  one  of  the  most  attractive 
and  popular  speakers  of  the  British  Parliament ; 


334  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

one  whose  aid  has  been  courted  and  whose  rebuke 
has  been  feared  by  the  ablest  of  England's  repre- 
sentatives. Amid  the  sneers  of  derision  and  the 
clamor  of  hate  and  prejudice  he  has  triumphed,  — 
on  that  very  arena  so  fatal  to  Irish  eloquence  and 
Irish  fame,  where  even  Grattan  failed  to  sustain 
himself,  and  the  impetuous  spirit  of  Flood  was 
stricken  down. 

No  subject  in  which  Ireland  was  not  directly 
interested  has  received  a  greater  share  of  O'Con- 
nell's  attention  than  that  of  the  abolition  of  co- 
lonial slavery.  Utterly  detesting  tyranny  of  all 
kinds,  he  poured  forth  his  eloquent  soul  in  stern 
reprobation  of  a  system  full  at  once  of  pride  and 
misery  and  oppression,  and  darkened  with  blood. 
His  speech  on  the  motion  of  Thomas  Fowell  Bux- 
ton  for  the  immediate  emancipation  of  the  slaves 
gave  a  new  tone  to  the  discussion  of  the  question. 
He  entered  into  no  petty  pecuniary  details;  no 
miserable  computation  of  the  shillings  and  pence 
vested  in  beings  fashioned  in  the  image  of  God. 
He  did  not  talk  of  the  expediency  of  continuing 
the  evil  because  it  had  grown  monstrous.  To  use 
his  own  words,  he  considered  "  slavery  a  crime  to 
be  abolished ;  not  merely  an  evil  to  be  palliated." 
He  left  Sir  Robert  Peel  and  the  Tories  to  eulogize 
the  characters  and  defend  the  interests  of  the  plant- 
ers, in  common  with  those  of  a  tithe-reaping  priest- 
hood, building  their  houses  by  oppression  and  their 
chambers  by  wrong,  and  spoke  of  the  negro's 
interest,  the  negro's  claim  to  justice ;  demanding 
sympathy  for  the  plundered  as  well  as  the  plun- 
derers, for  the  slave  as  well  as  his  master.  He 


DANIEL   0' CONN  ELL  335 

trampled  as  dust  under  his  feet  the  blasphemy  that 
obedience  to  the  law  of  eternal  justice  is  a  prin- 
ciple to  be  acknowledged  in  theory  only,  because 
unsafe  in  practice.  He  would,  he  said,  enter  into 
no  compromise  with  slavery.  He  cared  not  what 
cast  or  creed  or  color  it  might  assume,  whether 
personal  or  political,  intellectual  or  spiritual;  he 
was  for  its  total,  immediate  abolition.  He  was 
for  justice, -"-justice  in  the  name  of  humanity  and 
according  to  the  righteous  law  of  the  living  God. 

Ardently  admiring  our  free  institutions,  and 
constantly  pointing  to  our  glorious  political  exalta- 
tion as  an  incentive  to  the  perseverance  of  his  own 
countrymen  in  their  struggle  against  oppression,  he 
has  yet  omitted  no  opportunity  of  rebuking  our 
inexcusable  slave  system.  An  enthusiastic  admirer 
of  Jefferson,  he  has  often  regretted  that  his  prac- 
tice should  have  so  illy  accorded  with  his  noble 
sentiments  on  the  subject  of  slavery,  which  so  fully 
coincided  with  his  own.  In  truth,  wherever  man 
has  been  oppressed  by  his  fellow-man,  O'Connell's 
sympathy  has  been  directed :  to  Italy,  chained 
above  the  very  grave  of  her  ancient  liberties  ;  to 
the  republics  of  Southern  America;  to  Greece, 
dashing  the  foot  of  the  indolent  Ottoman  from  her 
neck ;  to  France  and  Belgium ;  and  last,  not  least, 
to  Poland,  driven  from  her  cherished  nationality, 
and  dragged,  like  his  own  Ireland,  bleeding  and 
violated,  to  the  deadly  embrace  of  her  oppressor. 
American  slavery  but  shares  in  his  common  de- 
nunciation of  all  tyranny  ;  its  victims  but  partake 
of  his  common  pity  for  the  oppressed  and  perse- 
cuted and  the  trodden  down. 


336  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

In  this  hasty  and  imperfect  sketch  we  cannot 
enter  into  the  details  of  that  cruel  disregard  of 
Irish  rights  which  was  manifested  by  a  Reformed 
Parliament,  convoked,  to  use  the  language  of  Wil- 
liam IV.,  "  to  ascertain  the  sense  of  the  people."  It 
is  perhaps  enough  to  say  that  O'Connell's  indignant 
refusal  to  receive  as  full  justice  the  measure  of 
reform  meted  out  to  Ireland  was  fully  justified  by 
the  facts  of  the  case.  The  Irish  Reform  Bill  gave 
Ireland,  with  one  third  of  the  entire  population  of 
the  United  Kingdoms,  only  one  sixth  of  the  Par- 
liamentary delegation.  It  diminished  instead  of 
increasing  the  number  of  voters  ;  in  the  towns  and 
cities  it  created  a  high  and  aristocratic  franchise ; 
in  many  boroughs  it  established  so  narrow  a  basis 
of  franchise  as  to  render  them  liable  to  corruption 
and  abuse  as  the  rotten  boroughs  of  the  old  system. 
It  threw  no  new  power  into  the  hands  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  and  with  no  little  justice  has  O'Connell  him- 
self termed  it  an  act  to  restore  to  power  the  Orange 
ascendancy  in  Ireland,  and  to  enable  a  faction  to 
trample  with  impunity  on  the  friends  of  reform 
and  constitutional  freedom.1 

In  May,  1832,  O'Connell  commenced  the  publi- 
cation of  his  celebrated  Letters  to  the  Reformers 
of  Great  Britain.  Like  Tallien,  before  the  French 
convention,  he  "  rent  away  the  veil  "  which  Hume 
and  Atwood  had  only  partially  lifted.  He  held 
up  before  the  people  of  Great  Britain  the  new 
indignities  which  had  been  added  to  the  long  cata- 
logue of  Ireland's  wrongs  ;  he  appealed  to  their 
justice,  their  honor,  their  duty,  for  redress,  and 

1  Letters  to  the  Reformers  of  Great  Britain,  No.  1. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL  337 

cast  down  before  the  Whig  administration  the 
gauntlet  of  his  country's  defiance  and  scorn.  There 
is  a  fine  burst  of  indignant  Irish  feeling  in  the 
concluding  paragraphs  of  his  fourth  letter :  — 

"  I  have  demonstrated  the  contumelious  injuries 
inflicted  upon  us  by  this  Reform  Bill.  My  letters 
are  long  before  the  public.  They  have  been  un- 
refuted,  uncontradicted  in  any  of  their  details. 
And  with  this  case  of  atrocious  injustice  to  Ireland 
placed  before  the  reformers  of  Great  Britain,  what 
assistance,  what  sympathy,  do  we  receive  ?  Why, 
I  have  got  some  half  dozen  drivelling  letters  from 
political  unions  and  political  characters,  asking  me 
whether  I  advise  them  to  petition  or  bestir  them- 
selves in  our  behalf ! 

"  Reformers  of  Great  Britain !  I  do  not  ask  you 
either  to  petition  or  be  silent.  I  do  not  ask  you 
to  petition  or  to  do  any  other  act  in  favor  of  the 
Irish.  You  will  consult  your  own  feelings  of  jus- 
tice and  generosity,  unprovoked  by  any  advice  or 
entreaty  of  mine. 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  never  despaired  of  Ireland ; 
I  do  not,  I  will  not,  I  cannot,  despair  of  my  beloved 
country.  She  has,  in  my  view,  obtained  freedom 
of  conscience  for  others,  as  well  as  for  herself. 
She  has  shaken  off  the  incubus  of  tithes  while  silly 
legislation  was  dealing  out  its  folly  and  its  false- 
hoods. She  can,  and  she  will,  obtain  for  herself 
justice  and  constitutional  freedom ;  and  although 
she  may  sigh  at  British  neglect  and  ingratitude, 
there  is  no  sound  of  despair  in  that  sigh,  nor  any 
want  of  moral  energy  on  her  part  to  attain  her  own 
rights  by  peaceable  and  legal  means." 


338  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

Through  all  the  stages  of  O'Connell's  political 
career,  he  has  never  failed  to  attribute  to  the  union 
with  Great  Britain  much  of  the  suffering  and 
degradation  of  his  country.  To  a  repeal  of  that 
Union  he  alone  looked  as  a  remedy  for  the  evils  of 
absenteeism,  that  canker  of  the  heart,  draining 
away  the  very  springs  of  her  life ;  the  Church  Es- 
tablishment, with  its  tithe-proctors  and  bayonets ; 
the  decay  of  her  manufactures  and  the  general 
prostration  of  her  commercial  energies.  Hence, 
while  contending  for  Catholic  emancipation,  his 
enemies  justly  termed  him  "  an  agitator  with  ulte- 
rior views."  "  I  toiled,"  said  O'ConneU,  "  for  Cath- 
olic emancipation,  only  with  the  repeal  as  my  great 
and  ultimate  object.  It  was  because  I  saw  that 
it  was  impossible  to  bring  the  people  of  Ireland 
to  combine  for  national  independence,  until  there 
was  an  end  of  unjust  political  degradation  of  the 
great  majority  and  of  the  unjust  political  ascend- 
ancy of  the  few."  Under  his  directions  the  people 
of  Ireland  had  effectually  nullified  the  tithe  sys- 
tem, by  refusing,  in  common  with  the  Quakers,  to 
pay  for  the  support  of  a  church  with  whose  min- 
istry they  had  no  communion ;  and  when  their 
property  was  seized,  in  default  of  payment,  by  the 
tithe-proctor,  "  the  odious  tithe-proctor,"  as  Moore, 
in  his  Captain  Rock,  calls  him,  no  Irishman,  with 
one  spark  of  national  feeling  in  his  bosom,  could 
be  found  to  purchase  it.  Yet  the  Whig  minis- 
try sustained  this  religious  robbery,  and,  weary  of 
fruitless  expostulation  with  an  English  Parliament, 
O'Connell  commenced  openly  his  "  agitation  "  for 
a  repeal  of  the  Union.  Here,  too,  the  spirit  of 
Ireland  has  been  with  him. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL  339 

The  tithe  system,  unutterably  odious  and  full 
of  all  injustice,  had  prepared  the  way  for  this  ex- 
pression of  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  people.  Ire- 
land had  never,  in  any  period  of  her  history,  bowed 
her  neck  peaceably  to  the  ecclesiastical  yoke. 
From  the  Canon  of  Cashel,  prepared  by  English 
deputies  in  the  twelfth  century,  decreeing  for  the 
first  time  that  tithes  should  be  paid  in  Ireland, 
down  to  the  present  moment,  the  Church  in  her 
borders  has  relied  solely  upon  the  strong  arm  of 
the  law,  and  literally  reaped  its  tithes  with  the 
sword.  The  decree  of  the  Dublin  Synod,  under 
Archbishop  Comyn,  in  1185,  could  only  be  enforced 
within  the  pale  of  the  English  settlement.  The 
attempts  of  Henry  VIII.  also  failed.  Without  the 
pale  all  endeavors  to  collect  tithes  were  met  by 
stern  opposition.  And  although  from  the  time  of 
William  III.  the  tithe  system  has  been  established 
in  Ireland,  yet  at  no  period  has  it  been  regarded 
otherwise  than  as  a  system  of  legalized  robbery  by 
seven  eighths  of  the  people.  An  examination  of 
this  system  cannot  fail  to  excite  our  wonder,  not 
that  it  has  been  thus  regarded,  but  that  it  has  been 
so  long  endured  by  any  people  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  least  of  all  by  Irishmen.  Tithes  to  the 
amount  of  .£1,000,000  are  annually  wrung  from 
impoverished  Ireland,  in  support  of  a  clergy  who 
can  only  number  about  one  sixteenth  of  her  pop- 
ulation as  their  hearers  ;  and  wrung,  too,  in 
an  undue  proportion,  from  the  Catholic  counties.1 
In  the  southern  and  middle  counties,  almost  en- 
tirely inhabited  by  the  Catholic  peasantry,  every- 
1  See  Dr.  Doyle's  Evidence  before  Hon.  E.  G.  Stanley. 


340  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

thing  they  possess  is  subject  to  the  tithe  :  the 
cow  is  seized  in  the  hovel,  the  potato  in  the  bar- 
rel, the  coat  even  on  the  poor  man's  back.1  The 
revenues  of  five  of  the  dignitaries  of  the  Irish 
Church  Establishment  are  as  follows  :  the  Primacy 
£140,000 ;  Derry  £120,000  ;  Kilmore  £100,000 ; 
Clogher  £100,000  ;  Waterford  £70,000.  Compare 
these  enormous  sums  with  that  paid  by  Scot- 
land for  the  maintenance  of  the  Church,  namely : 
£270,000.  Yet  that  Church  has  2,000,000  souls 
under  its  care,  while  that  of  Ireland  has  not  above 
500,000.  Nor  are  these  princely  livings  expended 
in  Ireland  by  their  possessors.  The  bishoprics  of 
Cloyne  and  Meath  have  been  long  held  by  absen- 
tees, —  by  men  who  know  no  more  of  their  flocks 
than  the  non-resident  owner  of  a  West  India  plan- 
tation did  of  the  miserable  negroes,  the  fruits  of 
whose  thankless  labor  were  annually  transmitted 
to  him.  Out  of  1289  beneficed  clergymen  in  Ire- 
land, between  five  and  six  hundred  are  non-resi- 
dents, spending  in  Bath  and  London,  or  in  making 
the  fashionable  tour  of  the  Continent,  the  wealth 
forced  from  the  Catholic  peasant  and  the  Protes- 
tant dissenter  by  the  bayonets  of  the  military. 
Scorching  and  terrible  was  the  sarcasm  of  Grattan 
applied  to  these  locusts  of  the  Church :  "  A  beastly 
and  pompous  priesthood,  political  potentates  and 
Christian  pastors,  full  of  false  zeal,  full  of  worldly 
pride,  and  full  of  gluttony,  empty  of  the  true 
religion,  to  their  flocks  oppressive,  to  their  inferior 
clergy  brutal,  to  their  king  abject,  and  to  their 
God  impudent  and  familiar,  —  they  stand  on  the 
1  Speech  of  T.  Reynolds,  Esq.,  at  an  anti-tithe  meeting. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL  341 

altar  as  a  stepping-stone  to  the  throne,  glorying 
in  the  ear  of  princes,  whom  they  poison  with 
crooked  principles  and  heated  advice ;  a  faction 
against  their  king  when  they  are  not  his  slaves,* 
—  ever  the  dirt  under  his  feet  or  a  poniard  to  his 
heart." 

For  the  evils  of  absenteeism,  the  non-residence 
of  the  wealthy  landholders,  draining  from  a  starv- 
ing country  the  very  necessaries  of  life,  a  remedy 
is  sought  in  a  repeal  of  the  union,  and  the  provi- 
sions of  a  domestic  parliament.  In  O'Connell's 
view,  a  restoration  of  such  a  parliament  can  alone 
afford  that  adequate  protection  to  the  national  in- 
dustry so  loudly  demanded  by  thousands  of  un- 
employed laborers,  starving  amid  the  ruins  of 
deserted  manufactories.  During  the  brief  period 
of  partial  Irish  liberty  which  followed  the  pacific 
revolution  of  '82,  the  manufactures  of  the  country 
revived  and  flourished  ;  and  the  smile  of  contented 
industry  was  visible  all  over  the  land.  In  1797 
there  were  15,000  silk-weavers  in  the  city  of  Dublin 
alone.  There  are  now  but  400.  Such  is  the  prac- 
tical effect  of  the  Union,  of  that  suicidal  act  of  the 
Irish  Parliament  which  yielded  up  in  a  moment  of 
treachery  and  terror  the  dearest  interests  of  the 
country  to  the  legislation  of  an  English  Parliament 
and  the  tender  mercies  of  Castlereagh,  —  of  that 
Castlereagh  who,  when  accused  by  Grattan  of 
spending  ,£15,000  in  purchasing  votes  for  the  Union, 
replied  with  the  rare  audacity  of  high-handed  in- 
iquity, "We  did  spend  £15,000,  and  we  would 
have  spent  £15,000,000  if  necessary  to  carry  the 
Union ; "  that  Castlereagh  who,  when  707,000  Irish- 


342  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

men  petitioned  against  the  Union  and  300,000  for 
it,  maintained  that  the  latter  constituted  the  major- 
ity !  Well  has  it  been  said  that  the  deep  vengeance 
which  Ireland  owed  him  was  inflicted  by  the  great 
criminal  upon  himself.  The  nation  which  he  sold 
and  plundered  saw  him  make  with  his  own  hand 
the  fearful  retribution.  The  great  body  of  the 
Irish  people  never  assented  to  the  Union.  The 
following  extract  from  a  speech  of  Earl  (then  Mr.) 
Grey,  in  1800,  upon  the  Union  question,  will  show 
what  means  were  made  use  of  to  drag  Ireland,  while 
yet  mourning  over  her  slaughtered  children,  to  the 
marriage  altar  with  England :  "  If  the  Parliament 
of  Ireland  had  been  left  to  itself,  untempted  and 
unawed,  it  would  without  hesitation  have  rejected 
the  resolutions.  Out  of  the  300  members,  120 
strenuously  opposed  the  measure,  162  voted  for 
it :  of  these,  116  were  placemen ;  some  of  them 
were  English  generals  on  the  staff,  without  a  foot 
of  ground  in  Ireland,  and  completely  dependent  on 
government."  "  Let  us  reflect  upon  the  arts  made 
use  of  since  the  last  session  of  the  Irish  Parliament 
to  pack  a  majority,  for  Union,  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  All  persons  holding  offices  under  gov- 
ernment, if  they  hesitated  to  vote  as  directed,  were 
stripped  of  all  their  employments.  A  bill  framed 
for  preserving  the  purity  of  Parliament  was  likewise 
abused,  and  no  less  than  63  seats  were  vacated  by 
their  holders'  having  received  nominal  offices." 

The  signs  of  the  times  are  most  favorable  to  the 
success  of  the  Irish  Liberator.  The  tremendous 
power  of  the  English  political  unions  is  beginning 
to  develop  itself  in  favor  of  Ireland.  A  deep  sym- 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL  343 

pathy  is  evinced  for  her  sufferings,  and  a  general 
determination  to  espouse  her  cause.  Brute  force 
cannot  put  down  the  peaceable  and  legal  agitation 
of  the  question  of  her  rights  and  interests.  The 
spirit  of  the  age  forbids  it.  The  agitation  will  go 
on,  for  it  is  spreading  among  men  who,  to  use  the 
words  of  the  eloquent  Shiel,  while  looking  out  upon 
the  ocean,  and  gazing  upon  the  shore,  which  Nature 
has  guarded  with  so  many  of  her  bulwarks,  can 
hear  the  language  of  Repeal  muttered  in  the  dash- 
ing of  the  very  waves  which  separate  them  from 
Great  Britain  by  a  barrier  of  God's  own  creation. 
Another  bloodless  victory,  we  trust,  awaits  O'Con- 
nell,  —  a  victory  worthy  of  his  heart  and  intellect, 
unstained  by  one  drop  of  human  blood,  unmois- 
tened  by  a  solitary  tear. 

Ireland  will  be  redeemed  and  disenthralled,  not 
perhaps  by  a  repeal  of  the  Union,  but  by  the  ac- 
complishment of  such  a  thorough  reform  in  the 
government  and  policy  of  Great  Britain  as  shall 
render  a  repeal  unnecessary  and  impolitic. 

The  sentiments  of  O'Connell  in  regard  to  the 
means  of  effecting  his  object  of  political  reform  are 
distinctly  impressed  upon  all  his  appeals  to  the 
people.  In  his  letter  of  December,  1832,  to  the 
Dublin  Trades  Union,  he  says :  "  The  Repealers 
must  not  have  our  cause  stained  with  blood.  Far 
indeed  from  it.  We  can,  and  ought  to,  carry  the 
repeal  only  in  the  total  absence  of  offence  against 
the  laws  of  man  or  crime  in  the  sight  of  God.  The 
best  revolution  which  was  ever  effected  could  not 
be  worth  one  drop  of  human  blood."  In  his  speech 
at  the  public  dinner  given  him  by  the  citizens  of 


344  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

Cork,  we  find  a  yet  more  earnest  avowal  of  pacific 
principles.  "  It  may  be  stated,"  said  he,  "  to  coun- 
tervail our  efforts,  that  this  struggle  will  involve  the 
destruction  of  life  and  property  ;  that  it  will  over- 
turn the  framework  of  civil  society,  and  give  an  un- 
due and  fearful  influence  to  one  rank  to  the  ruin  of 
all  others.  These  are  awful  considerations,  truly, 
if  risked.  I  am  one  of  those  who  have  always 
believed  that  any  political  change  is  too  dearly 
purchased  by  a  single  drop  of  blood,  and  who 
think  that  any  political  superstructure  based  upon 
other  opinion  is  like  the  sand-supported  fabric,  — 
beautiful  in  the  brief  hour  of  sunshine,  but  the  mo- 
ment one  drop  of  rain  touches  the  arid  basis  melt- 
ing away  in  wreck  and  ruin  !  I  am  an  accountable 
being  ;  I  have  a  soul  and  a  God  to  answer  to,  in 
another  and  better  world,  for  my  thoughts  and 
actions  in  this.  /  disclaim  here  any  act  of  mine 
which  would  sport  with  the  lives  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures, any  amelioration  of  our  social  condition 
which  must  be  purchased  by  their  blood.  And 
here,  in  the  face  of  God  and  of  our  common  coun- 
try, I  protest  that  if  I  did  not  sincerely  and  firmly 
believe  that  the  amelioration  I  desire  could  be 
effected  without  violence,  without  any  change  in 
the  relative  scale  of  ranks  in  the  present  social 
condition  of  Ireland,  except  that  change  which  all 
must  desire,  making  each  better  than  it  was  before, 
and  cementing  all  in  one  solid  irresistible  mass,  I 
would  at  once  give  up  the  struggle  which  I  have 
always  kept  with  tyranny.  I  would  withdraw  from 
the  contest  which  I  have  hitherto  waged  with  those 
who  would  perpetuate  our  thraldom.  I  would  not 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL  345 

for  one  moment  dare  to  venture  for  that  which  in 
costing  one  human  life  would  cost  infinitely  too 
dear.  But  it  will  cost  no  such  price.  Have  we  not 
had  within  my  memory  two  great  political  revolu- 
tions ?  And  had  we  them  not  without  bloodshed 
or  violence  to  the  social  compact?  Have  we  not 
arrived  at  a  period  when  physical  force  and  mili- 
tary power  yield  to  moral  and  intellectual  energy  ? 
Has  not  the  time  of  '  Cedant  arma  togae '  come  for 
us  and  the  other  nations  of  the  earth  ?  " 

Let  us  trust  that  the  prediction  of  O'Connell 
will  be  verified;  that  reason  and  intellect  are 
destined,  under  God,  to  do  that  for  the  nations  of 
the  earth  which  the  physical  force  of  centuries  and 
the  red  sacrifice  of  a  thousand  battle-fields  have 
failed  to  accomplish.  Glorious  beyond  all  others 
will  be  the  day  when  "  nation  shall  no  more  rise 
up  against  nation ; "  when,  as  a  necessary  conse- 
quence of  the  universal  acknowledgment  of  the 
rights  of  man,  it  shall  no  longer  be  in  the  power  of 
an  individual  to  drag  millions  into  strife,  for  the 
unholy  gratification  of  personal  prejudice  and  pas- 
sion. The  reformed  governments  of  Great  Britain 
and  France,  resting,  as  they  do,  upon  a  popular 
basis,  are  already  tending  to  this  consummation, 
for  the  people  have  suffered  too  much  from  the 
warlike  ambition  of  their  former  masters  not  to 
have  learned  that  the  gains  of  peaceful  industry 
are  better  than  the  wages  of  human  butchery. 

Among  the  great  names  of  Ireland  —  alike  con- 
spicuous, yet  widely  dissimilar  —  stand  Wellington 
and  O'Connell.  The  one  smote  down  the  modern 
Alexander  upon  Waterloo's  field  of  death,  but 


346  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

the  page  of  his  reputation  is  dim  with  the  tears  of 
the  widow  and  the  orphan,  and  dark  with  the  stain 
of  blood.  The  other,  armed  only  with  the  weapons 
of  truth  and  reason,  has  triumphed  over  the  oppres- 
sion of  centuries,  and  opened  a  peaceful  pathway 
to  the  Temple  of  Freedom,  through  which  its  God- 
dess may  be  seen,  no  longer  propitiated  with  human 
sacrifices,  like  some  foul  idol  of  the  East,  but 
clothed  in  Christian  attributes,  and  smiling  in  the 
beauty  of  holiness  upon  the  pure  hearts  and  peace- 
ful hands  of  its  votaries.  The  bloodless  victories 
of  the  latter  have  all  the  sublimity  with  none  of  the 
criminality  which  attaches  itself  to  the  triumphs  of 
the  former.  To  thunder  high  truths  in  the  deaf- 
ened ear  of  nations,  to  rouse  the  better  spirit  of 
the  age,  to  soothe  the  malignant  passions  of  as- 
sembled and  maddened  men,  to  throw  open  the 
temple  doors  of  justice  to  the  abused,  enslaved,  and 
persecuted,  to  unravel  the  mysteries  of  guilt,  and 
hold  up  the  workers  of  iniquity  in  the  severe  light 
of  truth  stripped  of  their  disguise  and  covered  with 
the  confusion  of  their  own  vileness,  —  these  are 
victories  more  glorious  than  any  which  have  ever 
reddened  the  earth  with  carnage  :  — 

"  They  ask  a  spirit  of  more  exalted  pitch, 
And  courage  tempered  with  a  holier  fire." 

Of  the  more  recent  efforts  of  O'Connell  we  need 
not  speak,  for  no  one  can  read  the  English  peri- 
odicals and  papers  without  perceiving  that  O'Con- 
nell is,  at  this  moment,  the  leading  politician,  the 
master  mind  of  the  British  empire.  Attempts  have 
been  made  to  prejudice  the  American  mind  against 
him  by  a  republication  on  this  side  of  the  water  of 


DANIEL   0' CONN  ELL  347 

the  false  and  foul  slanders  of  his  Tory  enemies,  in 
reference  to  what  is  called  "  the  O'Connell  rent," 
a  sum  placed  annually  in  his  hands  by  a  grateful 
people,  and  which  he  has  devoted  scrupulously  to 
the  great  object  of  Ireland's  political  redemption. 
He  has  acquired  no  riches  by  his  political  efforts ; 
his  heart  and  soul  and  mind  and  strength  have 
been  directed  to  his  suffering  country  and  the 
cause  of  universal  freedom.  For  this  he  has  de- 
servedly a  place  in  the  heart  and  affections  of 
every  son  of  Ireland.  One  million  of  ransomed 
slaves  in  the  British  dependencies  will  teach  their 
children  to  repeat  the  name  of  O'Connell  with  that 
of  Wilberforce  and  Clarkson.  And  when  the 
stain  and  caste  of  slavery  shall  have  passed  from 
our  own  country,  he  will  be  regarded  as  our  friend 
and  benefactor,  whose  faithful  rebukes  and  warn- 
ings and  eloquent  appeals  to  our  pride  of  charac- 
ter, borne  to  us  across  the  Atlantic,  touched  the 
guilty  sensitiveness  of  the  national  conscience,  and 
through  shame  prepared  the  way  for  repentance. 


ENGLAND  UNDER  JAMES  II. 

A  review  of  the  first  two  volumes  of  Macaulay's  History  of  Eng- 
land from  the  Accession  of  James  II. 

IN  accordance  with  the  labor-saving  spirit  of  the 
age,  we  have  in  these  volumes  an  admirable  exam- 
ple of  history  made  easy.  Had  they  been  pub- 
lished in  his  time,  they  might  have  found  favor  in 
the  eyes  of  the  poet  Gray,  who  declared  that  his 
ideal  of  happiness  was  "  to  lie  on  a  sofa  and  read 
eternal  new  romances." 

The  style  is  that  which  lends  such  a  charm  to 
the  author's  essays,  —  brilliant,  epigrammatic,  vig- 
orous. Indeed,  herein  lies  the  fault  of  the  work, 
when  viewed  as  a  mere  detail  of  historical  facts. 
Its  sparkling  rhetoric  is  not  the  safest  medium  of 
truth  to  the  simple-minded  inquirer.  A  discrimi- 
nating and  able  critic  has  done  the  author  no  injus- 
tice in  saying  that,  in  attempting  to  give  effect  and 
vividness  to  his  thoughts  and  diction,  he  is  often 
overstrained  and  extravagant,  and  that  his  epigram- 
matic style  seems  better  fitted  for  the  glitter  of 
paradox  than  the  sober  guise  of  truth.  The  intel- 
ligent and  well-informed  reader  of  the  volume  be- 
fore us  will  find  himself  at  times  compelled  to  re- 
verse the  decisions  of  the  author,  and  deliver  some 
unfortunate  personage,  sect,  or  class  from  the  pil- 
lory of  his  rhetoric  and  the  merciless  pelting  of  his 
ridicule.  There  is  a  want  of  the  repose  and  quiet 


ENGLAND    UNDER  JAMES  11.  349 

which  we  look  for  in  a  narrative  of  events  long 
passed  away  ;  we  rise  from  the  perusal  of  the  book 
pleased  and  excited,  but  with  not  so  clear  a  con- 
ception of  the  actual  realities  of  which  it  treats  as 
would  be  desirable.  We  cannot  help  feeling  that 
the  author  has  been  somewhat  over-scrupulous  in 
avoiding  the  dulness  of  plain  detail,  and  the  dry- 
ness  of  dates,  names,  and  statistics.  The  freedom, 
flowing  diction,  and  sweeping  generality  of  the  re- 
viewer and  essayist  are  maintained  throughout; 
and,  with  one  remarkable  exception,  the  History  of 
England  might  be  divided  into  papers  of  magazine 
length,  and  published,  without  any  violence  to 
propriety,  as  a  continuation  of  the  author's  labors 
in  that  department  of  literature  in  which  he  con- 
fessedly stands  without  a  rival,  —  historical  review. 
That  exception  is,  however,  no  unimportant  one. 
In  our  view,  it  is  the  crowning  excellence  of  the 
first  volume,  —  its  distinctive  feature  and  principal 
attraction.  We  refer  to  the  third  chapter  of  the 
volume,  from  page  260  to  page  398,  — the  descrip- 
tion of  the  condition  of  England  at  the  period  of 
the  accession  of  James  II.  We  know  of  nothing 
like  it  in  the  entire  range  of  historical  literature. 
The  veil  is  lifted  up  from  the  England  of  a  century 
and  a  half  ago ;  its  geographical,  industrial,  social, 
and  moral  condition  is  revealed ;  and,  as  the  pano- 
rama passes  before  us  of  lonely  heaths,  fortified 
farm-houses,  bands  of  robbers,  rude  country  squires 
doling  out  the  odds  and  ends  of  their  coarse  fare 
to  clerical  dependents,  —  rough  roads,  serviceable 
only  for  horseback  travelling,  —  towns  with  un- 
lighted  streets,  reeking  with  filth  and  offal,  —  and 


350  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

prisons,  damp,  loathsome,  infected  with  disease, 
and  swarming  with  vermin,  —  we  are  filled  with 
wonder  at  the  contrast  which  it  presents  to  the 
England  of  our  day.  We  no  longer  sigh  for  "  the 
good  old  days."  The  most  confirmed  grumbler  is 
compelled  to  admit  that,  bad  as  things  now  are, 
they  were  far  worse  a  few  generations  back.  Ma- 
caulay,  in  this  elaborate  and  carefully  prepared 
chapter,  has  done  a  good  service  to  humanity  in 
disabusing  well-intentioned  ignorance  of  the  melan- 
choly notion  that  the  world  is  growing  worse,  and 
in  putting  to  silence  the  cant  of  blind,  unreasoning 
conservatism. 

In  1685  the  entire  population  of  England  our 
author  estimates  at  from  five  millions  to  five  mil- 
lions five  hundred  thousand.  Of  the  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  families  at  that  period,  one  half  had 
animal  food  twice  a  week.  The  other  half  ate  it 
not  at  all,  or  at  most  not  oftener  than  once  a  week. 
Wheaten  loaves  were  only  seen  at  the  tables  of  the 
comparatively  wealthy.  Rye,  barley,  and  oats  were 
the  food  of  the  vast  majority.  The  average  wages 
of  workingmen  was  at  least  one  half  less  than  is 
paid  in  England  for  the  same  service  at  the  present 
day.  One  fifth  of  the  people  were  paupers,  or  re- 
cipients of  parish  relief.  Clothing  and  bedding 
were  scarce  and  dear.  Education  was  almost 
unknown  to  the  vast  majority.  The  houses  and 
shops  were  not  numbered  in  the  cities,  for  por- 
ters, coachmen,  and  errand-runners  could  not  read. 
The  shopkeeper  distinguished  his  place  of  business 
by  painted  signs  and  graven  images.  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  Universities  were  little  better  than  a 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  II.          351 

modern  grammar  and  Latin  school  in  a  provin- 
cial village.  The  country  magistrate  used  on  the 
bench  language  too  coarse,  brutal,  and  vulgar  for 
a  modern  tap-room.  Fine  gentlemen  in  London 
vied  with  each  other  in  the  lowest  ribaldry  and  the 
grossest  profanity.  The  poets  of  the  time,  from 
Dryden  to  Durfey,  ministered  to  the  popular  licen- 
tiousness. The  most  shameless  indecency  polluted 
their  pages.  The  theatre  and  the  brothel  were  in 
strict  unison.  The  Church  winked  at  the  vice 
which  opposed  itself  to  the  austere  morality  or  hy- 
pocrisy of  Puritanism.  The  superior  clergy,  with 
a  few  noble  exceptions,  were  self-seekers  and 
courtiers  ;  the  inferior  were  idle,  ignorant  hangers- 
on  upon  blaspheming  squires  and  knights  of  the 
shire.  The  domestic  chaplain,  of  all  men  living, 
held  the  most  unenviable  position.  "  If  he  was 
permitted  to  dine  with  the  family,  he  was  expected 
to  content  himself  with  the  plainest  fare.  He 
might  fill  himself  with  the  corned  beef  and  carrots ; 
but  as  soon  as  the  tarts  and  cheese-cakes  made 
their  appearance  he  quitted  his  seat,  and  stood 
aloof  till  he  was  summoned  to  return  thanks  for 
the  repast,  from  a  great  part  of  which  he  had  been 
excluded." 

Beyond  the  Trent  the  country  seems  at  this 
period  to  have  been  in  a  state  of  barbarism.  The 
parishes  kept  bloodhounds  for  the  purpose  of  hunt- 
ing freebooters.  The  farm-houses  were  fortified 
and  guarded.  So  dangerous  was  the  country  that 
persons  about  travelling  thither  made  their  wills. 
Judges  and  lawyers  only  ventured  therein,  escorted 
by  a  strong  guard  of  armed  men. 


352  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

The  term  of  human  life  throughout  the  kingdom 
was  much  shorter  than  it  is  at  the  present  time. 
The  year  1685  was  not  a  sickly  year ;  yet  one  in 
twenty-three  of  the  entire  population  of  London 
died.  The  present  annual  mortality  of  London  is 
only  one  in  forty.  Filth  was  allowed  to  accumu- 
late in  the  streets  of  the  capital  to  a  degree  which 
would  be  intolerable  to  modern  sensitiveness.  The 
dwellings  of  the  peasantry  were  loathsome  as  stys. 
Personal  cleanliness  was  little  attended  to.  Foul 
infectious  diseases,  now  almost  unknown,  were 
common.  Fleas  and  other  detestable  vermin 
abounded.  The  sense  of  misery  was  stupefied  by 
enormous  draughts  of  beer,  almost  the  only  article 
of  consumption  which  was  cheaper  than  at  present. 

Sectarian  bigotry  and  persecution,  for  opinions 
on  matters  about  which  often  neither  persecutor 
nor  persecuted  could  be  certain,  added  to  the  evils 
of  the  times.  Neighbor  acted  as  spy  upon  neigh- 
bor ;  swearing  and  drunken  Cavaliers  avenged  the 
persecution  and  plunder  of  their  fathers  in  Crom- 
well's time  by  packing  the  jail  with  the  inheritors 
of  the  faith  and  names  of  the  old  Puritan  zealots. 
When  the  corpse  of  some  Independent  preacher  or 
Anabaptist  interpreter  of  prophecies  was  brought 
out  from  the  jail  where  heresy  expiated  its  offences, 
the  rabble  followed  it  with  scoffing  and  deri- 
sion, encouraged  thereto  by  magistrates  and  clergy. 
The  temper  of  the  time  was  hard  and  cruel.  Ma- 
caulay  has  two  or  three  pages  crowded  with  ter- 
rible facts  touching  this  point.  The  gospel  of 
humanity  seems  neither  to  have  been  preached  nor 
felt. 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  II.  353 

The  natural  resources  of  the  island  were  unde- 
veloped. The  tin  mines  of  Cornwall,  which  two 
thousand  years  before  attracted  the  ships  of  the 
merchant  princes  of  Tyre  beyond  the  Pillars  of 
Hercules,  were  indeed  worked  to  a  considerable 
extent ;  but  the  copper  mines,  which  now  yield  an- 
nually fifteen  thousand  tons,  were  entirely  neg- 
lected. Rock  salt  was  known  to  exist,  but  was 
not  used  to  any  considerable  extent ;  and  only  a 
partial  supply  of  salt  by  evaporation  was  obtained. 
The  coal  and  iron  of  England  are  at  this  time  the 
stable  foundations  of  her  industrial  and  commer- 
cial greatness.  But  in  1685  the  great  part  of 
the  iron  used  was  imported.  Only  about  ten  thou- 
sand tons  were  annually  cast.  Now  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  is  the  average  annual  production. 
Equally  great  has  been  the  increase  in  coal  mining. 
"  Coal,"  says  Macaulay,  "  though  very  little  used 
in  any  species  of  manufacture,  was  already  the  or- 
dinary fuel  in  some  districts  which  were  fortunate 
enough  to  possess  large  beds,  and  in  the  capital, 
which  could  easily  be  supplied  by  water  carriage. 
It  seems  reasonable  to  believe  that  at  least  one 
half  of  the  quantity  then  extracted  from  the  pits 
was  consumed  in  London.  The  consumption  of 
London  seemed  to  the  writers  of  that  age  enor- 
mous, and  was  often  mentioned  by  them  as  a 
proof  of  the  greatness  of  the  imperial  city.  They 
scarcely  hoped  to  be  believed  when  they  affirmed 
that  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  chaldrons 
—  that  is  to  say,  about  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  tons  —  were,  in  the  last  year  of  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.,  brought  to  the  Thames.  At 


354  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

present  near  three  millions  and  a  half  of  tons  are 
required  yearly  by  the  metropolis ;  and  the  whole 
annual  produce  cannot,  on  the  most  moderate  com- 
putation, be  estimated  at  less  than  twenty  millions 
of  tons." 

After  thus  passing  in  survey  the  England  of  our 
ancestors  five  or  six  generations  back,  the  author 
closes  his  chapter  with  some  eloquent  remarks 
upon  the  progress  of  society.  Contrasting  the 
hardness  and  coarseness  of  the  age  of  which  he 
treats  with  the  softer  and  more  humane  features  of 
our  own,  he  says :  "  Nowhere  could  be  found  that 
sensitive  and  restless  compassion  which  has  in  our 
time  extended  powerful  protection  to  the  factory 
child,  the  Hindoo  widow,  to  the  negro  slave  ;  which 
pries  into  the  stores  and  water-casks  of  every  emi- 
grant ship  ;  which  winces  at  every  lash  laid  on  the 
back  of  a  drunken  soldier ;  which  will  not  suffer 
the  thief  in  the  hulks  to  be  ill  fed  or  overworked ; 
and  which  has  repeatedly  endeavored  to  save  the 
life  even  of  the  murderer.  The  more  we  study  the 
annals  of  the  past,  the  more  shall  we  rejoice  that 
we  live  in  a  merciful  age,  in  an  age  in  which 
cruelty  is  abhorred,  and  in  which  pain,  even  when 
deserved,  is  inflicted  reluctantly  and  from  a  sense 
of  duty.  Every  class,  doubtless,  has  gained  largely 
by  this  great  moral  change ;  but  the  class  which 
has  gained  most  is  the  poorest,  the  most  depend- 
ent, and  the  most  defenceless." 

The  history  itself  properly  commences  at  the 
close  of  this  chapter.  Opening  with  the  death- 
scene  of  the  dissolute  Charles  II.,  it  presents  a 
series  of  brilliant  pictures  of  the  events  succeeding. 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  II.          355 

The  miserable  fate  of  Gates  and  Dangerfield,  the 
perjured  inventors  of  the  Popish  Plot ;  the  trial  of 
Baxter  by  the  infamous  Jeffreys ;  the  ill-starred 
attempt  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth ;  the  battle  of 
Sedgemoor,  and  the  dreadful  atrocities  of  the 
king's  soldiers,  and  the  horrible  perversion  of  jus- 
tice by  the  king's  chief  judge  in  the  "  Bloody 
Assizes ;  "  the  barbarous  hunting  of  the  Scotch 
Dissenters  by  Claverhouse ;  the  melancholy  fate  of 
the  brave  and  noble  Duke  of  Argyle,  —  are  de- 
scribed with  graphic  power  unknown  to  Smollett  or 
Hume.  Personal  portraits  are  sketched  with  a 
bold  freedom  which  at  times  startles  us.  The  "  old 
familiar  faces,"  as  we  have  seen  them  through  the 
dust  of  a  century  and  a  half,  start  before  us  with 
lifelike  distinctness  of  outline  and  coloring.  Some 
of  them  disappoint  us  ;  like  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's 
father,  they  come  in  a  "  questionable  shape."  Thus, 
for  instance,  in  his  sketch  of  William  Penn,  the 
historian  takes  issue  with  the  world  on  his  charac- 
ter, and  labors  through  many  pages  of  disingenu- 
ous innuendoes  and  distortion  of  facts  to  transform 
the  saint  of  history  into  a  pliant  courtier. 

The  second  volume  details  the  follies  and  mis- 
fortunes, the  decline  and  fall,  of  the  last  of  the 
Stuarts.  All  the  art  of  the  author's  splendid  rhet- 
oric is  employed  in  awakening,  by  turns,  the  indig- 
nation and  contempt  of  the  reader  in  contemplat- 
ing the  character  of  the  wrong-headed  king.  In 
portraying  that  character,  he  has  brought  into  ex- 
ercise all  those  powers  of  invective  and  merciless 
ridicule  which  give  such  a  savage  relish  to  his  de- 
lineation of  Barrere.  To  preserve  the  consistency 


356  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

of  this  character,  he  denies  the  king  any  credit  for 
whatever  was  really  beneficent  and  praiseworthy  in 
his  government.  He  holds  up  the  royal  delinquent 
in  only  two  lights  :  the  one  representing  him  as  a 
tyrant  towards  his  people  ;  the  other  as  the  abject 
slave  of  foreign  priests,  —  a  man  at  once  hateful 
and  ludicrous,  of  whom  it  is  difficult  to  speak  with- 
out an  execration  or  a  sneer. 

The  events  which  preceded  the  revolution  of 
1688 ;  the  undisguised  adherence  of  the  king  to 
the  Church  of  Rome  ;  the  partial  toleration  of  the 
despised  Quakers  and  Anabaptists;  the  gradual 
relaxation  of  the  severity  of  the  penal  laws  against 
Papists  and  Dissenters,  preparing  the  way  for  the 
royal  proclamation  of  entire  liberty  of  conscience 
throughout  the  British  realm,  allowing  the  crop- 
eared  Puritan  and  the  Papist  priest  to  build  con- 
venticles and  mass  houses  under  the  very  eaves  of 
the  palaces  of  Oxford  and  Canterbury ;  the  mining 
and  countermining  of  Jesuits  and  prelates,  are 
detailed  with  impartial  minuteness.  The  secret 
springs  of  the  great  movements  of  the  time  are 
laid  bare ;  the  mean  and  paltry  instrumentalities 
are  seen  at  work  in  the  under  world  of  corruption, 
prejudice,  and  falsehood.  No  one,  save  a  blind, 
unreasoning  partisan  of  Catholicism  or  Episcopacy, 
can  contemplate  this  chapter  in  English  history 
without  a  feeling  of  disgust.  However  it  may  have 
been  overruled  for  good  by  that  Providence  which 
takes  the  wise  in  their  own  craftiness,  the  revolu- 
tion of  1688,  in  itself  considered,  affords  just  as 
little  cause  for  self-congratulation  on  the  part  of 
Protestants  as  the  substitution  of  the  supremacy  of 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  II.          357 

the  crowned  Bluebeard,  Henry  VIII.,  for  that  of 
the  Pope,  in  the  English  Church.  It  had  little  in 
common  with  the  revolution  of  1642.  The  field 
of  its  action  was  the  closet  of  selfish  intrigue,  — 
the  stalls  of  discontented  prelates,  —  the  chambers 
of  the  wanton  and  adulteress,  —  the  confessional 
of  a  weak  prince,  whose  mind,  originally  narrow, 
had  been  cramped  closer  still  by  the  strait-jacket 
of  religious  bigotry  and  superstition.  The  age  of 
nobility  and  heroism  had  wellnigh  passed  away. 
The  pious  fervor,  the  self-denial,  and  the  strict 
morality  of  the  Puritanism  of  the  days  of  Crom- 
well, and  the  blunt  honesty  and  chivalrous  loyalty 
of  the  Cavaliers,  had  both  measurably  given  place 
to  the  corrupting  influences  of  the  licentious  and 
infidel  court  of  Charles  II. ;  and  to  the  arrogance, 
intolerance,  and  shameless  self-seeking  of  a  prelacy 
which,  in  its  day  of  triumph  and  revenge,  had  more 
than  justified  the  terrible  denunciations  and  scath- 
ing gibes  of  Milton. 

Both  Catholic  and  Protestant  writers  have  mis- 
represented James  II.  He  deserves  neither  the 
execrations  of  the  one  nor  the  eulogies  of  the 
other.  The  candid  historian  must  admit  that  he 
was,  after  all,  a  better  man  than  his  brother 
Charles  II.  He  was  a  sincere  and  bigoted  Cath- 
olic, and  was  undoubtedly  honest  in  the  declara- 
tion, which  he  made  in  that  unlucky  letter  which 
Burnet  ferreted  out  on  the  Continent,  that  he 
was  prepared  to  make  large  steps  to  build  up  the 
Catholic  Church  in  England,  and,  if  necessary,  to 
become  a  martyr  in  her  cause.  He  was  proud, 
austere,  and  self-willed.  In  the  treatment  of  his 


358  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

enemies  he  partook  of  the  cruel  temper  of  his  time. 
He  was  at  once  ascetic  and  sensual,  alternating  be- 
tween the  hair-shirt  of  penance  and  the  embraces 
of  Catharine  Sedley.  His  situation  was  one  of  the 
most  difficult  and  embarrassing  which  can  be  con- 
ceived of.  He  was  at  once  a  bigoted  Papist  and  a 
Protestant  pope.  He  hated  the  French  domina- 
tion to  which  his  brother  had  submitted ;  yet  his 
pride  as  sovereign  was  subordinated  to  his  alle- 
giance to  Rome  and  a  superstitious  veneration  for 
the  wily  priests  with  which  Louis  XIV.  sur- 
rounded him.  As  the  head  of  Anglican  heretics, 
he  was  compelled  to  submit  to  conditions  galling 
alike  to  the  sovereign  and  the  man.  He  found,  on 
his  accession,  the  terrible  penal  laws  against  the 
Papists  in  full  force  ;  the  hangman's  knife  was  yet 
warm  with  its  ghastly  butcher-work  of  quartering 
and  disembowelling  suspected  Jesuits  and  victims 
of  the  lie  of  Titus  Gates ;  the  Tower  of  London 
had  scarcely  ceased  to  echo  the  groans  of  Catholic 
confessors  stretched  on  the  rack  by  Protestant  in- 
quisitors. He  was  torn  by  conflicting  interests 
and  spiritual  and  political  contradictions.  The 
prelates  of  the  Established  Church  must  share  the 
responsibility  of  many  of  the  worst  acts  of  the  early 
part  of  his  reign.  Oxford  sent  up  its  lawned  dep- 
utations to  mingle  the  voice  of  adulation  with  the 
groans  of  tortured  Covenanters,  and  fawning  eccle- 
siastics burned  the  incense  of  irreverent  flattery 
under  the  nostrils  of  the  Lord's  anointed,  while  the 
blessed  air  of  England  was  tainted  by  the  carcasses 
of  the  ill-fated  followers  of  Monmouth,  rotting  on 
a  thousand  gibbets.  While  Jeffreys  was  threaten- 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  II.          359 

ing  Baxter  and  his  Presbyterian  friends  with  the 
pillory  and  whipping-post ;  while  Quakers  and 
Baptists  were  only  spared  from  extermination  as 
game  preserves  for  the  sport  of  clerical  hunters ; 
while  the  prisons  were  thronged  with  the  heads  of 
some  fifteen  thousand  beggared  families,  and  Dis- 
senters of  every  name  and  degree  were  chased  from 
one  hiding-place  to  another,  like  David  among  the 
cliffs  of  Ziph  and  the  rocks  of  the  wild  goats,  — 
the  thanksgivings  and  congratulations  of  prelacy 
arose  in  an  unbroken  strain  of  laudation  from  all 
the  episcopal  palaces  of  -England.  What  mat- 
tered it  to  men,  in  whose  hearts,  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  John  Milton,  "  the  sour  leaven  of  human 
traditions,  mixed  with  the  poisonous  dregs  of  hypoc- 
risy, lay  basking  in  the  sunny  warmth  of  wealth 
and  promotion,  hatching  Antichrist,"  that  the  priv- 
ileges of  Englishmen  and  the  rights  secured  by 
the  great  charter  were  violated  and  trodden  under 
foot,  so  long  as  usurpation  enured  to  their  own 
benefit  ?  But  when  King  James  issued  his  Decla- 
ration of  Indulgence,  and  stretched  his  prerogative 
on  the  side  of  tolerance  and  charity,  the  zeal  of  the 
prelates  for  preserving  the  integrity  of  the  British 
constitution  and  the  limiting  of  the  royal  power 
flamed  up  into  rebellion.  They  forswore  them- 
selves without  scruple :  the  disciples  of  Laud,  the 
asserters  of  kingly  infallibility  and  divine  right, 
talked  of  usurped  power  and  English  rights  in 
the  strain  of  the  very  schismatics  whom  they  had 
persecuted  to  the  death.  There  is  no  reason  to 
believe  that  James  supposed  that,  in  issuing  his 
declaration  suspending  the  penal  laws,  he  had 


360  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

transcended  the  rightful  prerogative  of  his  throne. 
The  power  which  he  exercised  had  been  used  by  his 
predecessors  for  far  less  worthy  purposes,  and  with 
the  approbation  of  many  of  the  very  men  who  now 
opposed  him.  His  ostensible  object,  expressed  in 
language  which  even  those  who  condemn  his  policy 
cannot  but  admire,  was  a  laudable  and  noble  one. 
"  We  trust,"  said  he,  "  that  it  will  not  be  vain 
that  we  have  resolved  to  use  our  utmost  endeavors 
to  establish  liberty  of  conscience  on  such  just  and 
equal  foundations  as  will  render  it  unalterable,  and 
secure  to  all  people  the  free  exercise  of  their  re- 
ligion, by  which  future  ages  may  reap  the  benefit 
of  what  is  so  undoubtedly  the  general  good  of  the 
whole  kingdom."  Whatever  may  have  been  the 
motive  of  this  declaration,  —  even  admitting  the 
suspicions  of  his  enemies  to  have  been  true,  that  he 
advocated  universal  toleration  as  the  only  means 
of  restoring  Koman  Catholics  to  all  the  rights  and 
privileges  of  which  the  penal  laws  deprived  them, 
—  it  would  seem  that  there  could  have  been  no 
very  serious  objection  on  the  part  of  real  friends  of 
religious  toleration  to  the  taking  of  him  at  his  word 
and  placing  Englishmen  of  every  sect  on  an  equal- 
ity before  the  law.  The  Catholics  were  in  a  very 
small  minority,  scarcely  at  that  time  as  numerous 
as  the  Quakers  and  Anabaptists.  The  army,  the 
navy,  and  nine  tenths  of  the  people  of  England 
were  Protestants.  Real  danger,  therefore,  from  a 
simple  act  of  justice  towards  their  Catholic  fellow- 
citizens,  the  people  of  England  had  no  ground  for 
apprehending.  But  the  great  truth,  which  is  even 
now  but  imperfectly  recognized  throughout  Chris- 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  II.  361 

tendom,  that  religious  opinions  rest  between  man 
and  his  Maker,  and  not  between  man  and  the  mag- 
istrate, and  that  the  domain  of  conscience  is  sacred, 
was  almost  unknown  to  the  statesmen  and  school- 
men of  the  seventeenth  century.  Milton  —  ultra 
liberal  as  he  was  —  excepted  the  Catholics  from 
his  plan  of  toleration.  Locke,  yielding  to  the  pre- 
judices of  the  time,  took  the  same  ground.  The 
enlightened  latitudinarian  ministers  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church  —  men  whose  talents  and  Christian 
charity  redeem  in  some  measure  the  character  of 
that  Church  in  the  day  of  its  greatest  power  and 
basest  apostasy  —  stopped  short  of  universal  toler- 
ation. The  Presbyterians  excluded  Quakers,  Bap- 
tists, and  Papists  from  the  pale  of  their  charity. 
With  the  single  exception  of  the  sect  of  which 
William  Penn  was  a  conspicuous  member,  the  idea 
of  complete  and  impartial  toleration  was  novel  and 
unwelcome  to  all  sects  and  classes  of  the  English 
people.  Hence  it  was  that  the  very  men  whose 
liberties  and  estates  had  been  secured  by  the  dec- 
laration, and  who  were  thereby  permitted  to  hold 
their  meetings  in  peace  and  quietness,  used  their 
newly  acquired  freedom  in  denouncing  the  king, 
because  the  same  key  which  had  opened  their 
prison  doors  had  also  liberated  the  Papists  and 
the  Quakers.  Baxter's  severe  and  painful  spirit 
could  not  rejoice  in  an  act  which  had,  indeed,  re- 
stored him  to  personal  freedom,  but  which  had,  in 
his  view,  also  offended  Heaven,  and  strengthened 
the  powers  of  Antichrist  by  extending  the  same 
favor  to  Jesuits  and  Ranters.  Bunyan  disliked 
the  Quakers  next  to  the  Papists ;  and  it  greatly 


362  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

lessened  his  satisfaction  at  his  release  from  BecU 
ford  jail  that  it  had  been  brought  about  by  the 
influence  of  the  former  at  the  court  of  a  Catholic 
prince.  Dissenters  forgot  the  wrongs  and  perse- 
cutions which  they  had  experienced  at  the  hands 
of  the  prelacy,  and  joined  the  bishops  in  opposition 
to  the  declaration.  They  almost  magnified  into 
Christian  confessors  the  prelates  who  remonstrated 
against  the  indulgence,  and  actually  plotted  against 
the  king  for  restoring  them  to  liberty  of  person 
and  conscience.  The  nightmare  fear  of  Popery 
overcame  their  love  of  religious  liberty ;  and  they 
meekly  offered  their  necks  to  the  yoke  of  prelacy  as 
the  only  security  against  the  heavier  one  of  Papist 
supremacy.  In  a  far  different  manner  the  clear- 
eyed  and  plain-spoken  John  Milton  met  the  claims 
and  demands  of  the  hierarchy  in  his  time.  "  They 
entreat  us,"  said  he,  "  that  we  be  not  weary  of  the 
insupportable  grievances  that  our  shoulders  have 
hitherto  cracked  under ;  they  beseech  us  that  we 
think  them  fit  to  be  our  justices  of  peace,  our 
lords,  our  highest  officers  of  state.  They  pray  us 
that  it  would  please  us  to  let  them  still  haul  us 
and  wrong  us  with  their  bandogs  and  pursuivants ; 
and  that  it  would  please  the  Parliament  that  they 
may  yet  have  the  whipping,  fleecing,  and  flaying 
of  us  in  their  diabolical  courts,  to  tear  the  flesh 
from  our  bones,  and  into  our  wide  wounds,  instead 
of  balm,  to  pour  in  the  oil  of  tartar,  vitriol,  and 
mercury.  Surely  a  right,  reasonable,  innocent, 
and  soft-hearted  petition  !  O  the  relenting  bowels 
of  the  fathers !  " 

Considering  the  prominent  part  acted  by  William 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  11.          363 

Penn  in  the  reign  of  James  II.,  and  his  active  and 
influential  support  of  the  obnoxious  declaration 
which  precipitated  the  revolution  of  1688,  it  could 
hardly  have  been  otherwise  than  that  his  charac- 
ter should  suffer  from  the  unworthy  suspicions 
and  prejudices  of  his  contemporaries.  His  views 
of  religious  toleration  were  too  far  in  advance  of 
the  age  to  be  received  with  favor.  They  were  of 
necessity  misunderstood  and  misrepresented.  All 
his  life  he  had  been  urging  them  with  the  earnest- 
ness of  one  whose  convictions  were  the  result,  not 
so  much  of  human  reason  as  of  what  he  regarded 
as  divine  illumination.  What  the  council  of  James 
yielded  upon  grounds  of  state  policy  he  defended 
on  those  of  religious  obligation.  He  had  suffered 
in  person  and  estate  for  the  exercise  of  his  reli- 
gion. He  had  travelled  over  Holland  and  Ger- 
many, pleading  with  those  in  authority  for  univer- 
sal toleration  and  charity.  On  a  sudden,  on  the 
accession  of  James,  the  friend  of  himself  and  his 
family,  he  found  himself  the  most  influential  unti- 
tled  citizen  in  the  British  realm.  He  had  free  ac- 
cess to  the  royal  ear.  Asking  nothing  for  himself 
or  his  relatives,  he  demanded  only  that  the  good 
people  of  England  should  be  no  longer  despoiled 
of  liberty  and  estate  for  their  religious  opinions. 
James,  as  a  Catholic,  had  in  some  sort  a  common 
interest  with  his  dissenting  subjects,  and  the  decla- 
ration was  for  their  common  relief.  Penn,  con- 
scious of  the  rectitude  of  his  own  motives  and 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  Christian  duty  of  tol- 
eration, welcomed  that  declaration  as  the  precursor 
of  the  golden  age  of  liberty  and  love  and  good-will 


364  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

to  men.  He  was  not  the  man  to  distrust  the  mo- 
tives of  an  act  so  fully  in  accordance  with  his  life- 
long aspirations  and  prayers.  He  was  charitable 
to  a  fault:  his  faith  in  his  fellow-men  was  often 
stronger  than  a  clearer  insight  of  their  characters 
would  have  justified.  He  saw  the  errors  of  the 
king,  and  deplored  them;  he  denounced  Jeffreys 
as  a  butcher  who  had  been  let  loose  by  the  priests ; 
and  pitied  the  king,  who  was,  he  thought,  swayed 
by  evil  counsels.  He  remonstrated  against  the  in- 
terference of  the  king  with  Magdalen  College  ;  and 
reproved  and  rebuked  the  hopes  and  aims  of  the 
more  zealous  and  hot-headed  Catholics,  advising 
them  to  be  content  with  simple  toleration.  But 
the  constitution  of  his  mind  fitted  him  rather  for 
the  commendation  of  the  good  than  the  denuncia- 
tion of  the  bad.  He  had  little  in  common  with 
the  bold  and  austere  spirit  of  the  Puritan  reform- 
ers. He  disliked  their  violence  and  harshness; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  attracted  and 
pleased  by  the  gentle  disposition  and  mild  coun- 
sels of  Locke,  and  Tillotson,  and  the  latitudinari- 
ans  of  the  English  Church.  He  was  the  intimate 
personal  and  political  friend  of  Algernon  Sydney  ; 
sympathized  with  his  republican  theories,  and 
shared  his  abhorrence  of  tyranny,  civil  and  eccle- 
siastical. He  found  in  him  a  man  after  his  own 
heart,  —  genial,  generous,  and  loving ;  faithful  to 
duty  and  the  instincts  of  humanity ;  a  true  Chris- 
tian gentleman.  His  sense  of  gratitude  was  strong, 
and  his  personal  friendships  sometimes  clouded  his 
judgment.  In  giving  his  support  to  the  measures 
of  James  in  behalf  of  liberty  of  conscience,  it  must 


ENGLAND   UNDER  JAMES  II.  365 

be  admitted  that  he  acted  in  consistency  with  his 
principles  and  professions.  To  have  taken  ground 
against  them,  he  must  have  given  the  lie  to  his 
declarations  from  his  youth  upward.  He  could 
not  disown  and  deny  his  own  favorite  doctrine  be- 
cause it  came  from  the  lips  of  a  Catholic  king  and 
his  Jesuit  advisers ;  and  in  thus  rising  above  the 
prejudices  of  his  time,  and  appealing  to  the  reason 
and  humanity  of  the  people  of  England  in  favor  of 
a  cordial  indorsement  on  the  part  of  Parliament  of 
the  principles  of  the  declaration,  he  believed  that 
he  was  subserving  the  best  interests  of  his  beloved 
country  and  fulfilling  the  solemn  obligations  of 
religious  duty.  The  downfall  of  James  exposed 
Penn  to  peril  and  obloquy.  Perjured  informers 
endeavored  to  swear  away  his  life  ;  and,  although 
nothing  could  be  proved  against  him  beyond  the 
fact  that  he  had  steadily  supported  the  great  meas- 
ure of  toleration,  he  was  compelled  to  live  secluded 
in  his  private  lodgings  in  London  for  two  or  three 
years,  with  a  proclamation  for  his  arrest  hanging 
over  his  head.  At  length,  the  principal  informer 
against  him  having  been  found  guilty  of  perjury, 
the  government  warrant  was  withdrawn ;  and  Lords 
Sidney,  Rochester,  and  Somers,  and  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  publicly  bore  testimony  that  nothing 
had  been  urged  against  him  save  by  impostors, 
and  that  "  they  had  known  him,  some  of  them,  for 
thirty  years,  and  had  never  known  him  to  do  an  ill 
thing,  but  many  good  offices."  It  is  a  matter  of 
regret  that  one  professing  to  hold  the  impartial 
pen  of  history  should  have  given  the  sanction  of 
his  authority  to  the  slanderous  and  false  imputa- 


366  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

tions  of  such  a  man  as  Burnet,  who  has  never  been 
regarded   as  an  authentic  chronicler.1     The  pan- 

1  Gilbert  Burnet,  in  liberality  as  a  politician  and  tolerance  as  a 
Churchman,  was  far  in  advance  of  his  order  and  time.  It  is  true 
that  he  shut  out  the  Catholics  from  the  pale  of  his  charity  and 
barely  tolerated  the  Dissenters.  The  idea  of  entire  religious  lib- 
erty and  equality  shocked  even  his  moderate  degree  of  sensitive- 
ness. He  met  Penn  at  the  court  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  and, 
after  a  long  and  fruitless  effort  to  convince  the  Dissenter  that  the 
penal  laws  against  the  Catholics  should  be  enforced,  and  alle- 
giance to  the  Established  Church  continue  the  condition  of  quali- 
fication for  offices  of  trust  and  honor,  and  that  he  and  his  friends 
should  rest  contented  with  simple  toleration,  he  became  irritated 
by  the  inflexible  adherence  of  Penn  to  the  principle  of  entire  re- 
ligious freedom.  One  of  the  most  worthy  sons  of  the  Episcopal 
Church,  Thomas  Clarkson,  alluding  to  this  discussion,  says: 
"  Burnet  never  mentioned  him  (Penn)  afterwards  but  coldly  or 
sneeringly,  or  in  a  way  to  lower  him  in  the  estimation  of  the 
reader,  whenever  he  had  occasion  to  speak  of  him  in  his  History 
of  his  Own  Times." 

He  was  a  man  of  strong  prejudices ;  he  lived  in  the  midst  of 
revolutions,  plots,  and  intrigues ;  he  saw  much  of  the  worst  side 
of  human  nature  ;  and  he  candidly  admits,  in  the  preface  to  his 
great  work,  that  he  was  inclined  to  think  generally  the  worst  of 
men  and  parties,  and  that  the  reader  should  make  allowance  for 
this  inclination,  although  he  had  honestly  tried  to  give  the  truth. 
Dr.  King,  of  Oxford,  in  his  Anecdotes  of  his  Own  Times,  p.  185, 
says :  "  I  knew  Burnet :  he  was  a  furious  party-man,  and  easily 
imposed  upon  by  any  lying  spirit  of  his  faction ;  but  he  was  a 
better  pastor  than  any  man  who  is  now  seated  on  the  bishops' 
bench."  The  Tory  writers  —  Swift,  Pope,  Arbuthnot,  and  oth- 
ers —  have  undoubtedly  exaggerated  the  defects  of  Burnet's  nar- 
rative ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  his  Whig  commentators  have 
excused  them  on  the  ground  of  his  avowed  and  fierce  partisanship. 
Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  blunt  way,  says :  "I  do  not  believe  Burnet 
intentionally  lied ;  but  he  was  so  much  prejudiced  that  he  took 
no  pains  to  find  out  the  truth."  On  the  contrary,  Sir  James 
Mackintosh,  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  speaks  of  the  Bishop  as  an 
honest  writer,  seldom  substantially  erroneous,  though  often  in- 
accurate in  points  of  detail ;  and  Macaulay,  who  has  quite  too 
closely  followed  him  in  his  history,  defends  him  as  at  least  quite 
as  accurate  as  his  contemporary  writers,  and  says  that,  "in  his 


ENGLAND  UNDER  JAMES  II.          367 

theon  of  history  should  not  be  lightly  disturbed. 
A  good  man's  character  is  the  world's  common 
legacy ;  and  humanity  is  not  so  rich  in  models  of 
purity  and  goodness  as  to  be  able  to  sacrifice  such 
a  reputation  as  that  of  William  Penn  to  the  point 
of  an  antithesis  or  the  effect  of  a  paradox. 

moral  character,  as  in  his  intellectual,  great  blemishes  were  more 
than  compensated  by  great  excellences." 


THE  BORDER  WAR  OF  1708. 

THE  picturesque  site  of  the  now  large  village  of 
Haverhill,  on  the  Merrimac  River,  was  occupied  a 
century  and  a  half  ago  by  some  thirty  dwellings, 
scattered  at  unequal  distances  along  the  two  princi- 
pal roads,  one  of  which,  running  parallel  with  the 
river,  intersected  the  other,  which  ascended  the 
hill  northwardly  and  lost  itself  in  the  dark  woods. 
The  log  huts  of  the  first  settlers  had  at  that  time 
given  place  to  comparatively  spacious  and  commo- 
dious habitations,  framed  and  covered  with  sawed 
boards,  and  cloven  clapboards,  or  shingles.  They 
were,  many  of  them,  two  stories  in  front,  with  the 
roof  sloping  off  behind  to  a  single  one ;  the  win- 
dows few  and  small,  and  frequently  so  fitted  as  to 
be  opened  with  difficulty,  and  affording  but  a 
scanty  supply  of  light  and  air.  Two  or  three  of 
the  best  constructed  were  occupied  as  garrisons, 
where,  in  addition  to  the  family,  small  companies 
of  soldiers  were  quartered.  On  the  high  grounds 
rising  from  the  river  stood  the  mansions  of  the 
well-defined  aristocracy  of  the  little  settlement,  — 
larger  and  more  imposing,  with  projecting  upper 
stories  and  carved  cornices.  On  the  front  of  one 
of  these,  over  the  elaborately  wrought  entablature 
of  the  doorway,  might  be  seen  the  armorial  bear- 
ings of  the  honored  family  of  Saltonstall.  Its 
hospitable  door  was  now  closed  ;  no  guests  filled 


THE  BORDER  WAR   OF  1708  369 

its  spacious  hall  or  partook  of  the  rich  delicacies  of 
its  ample  larder.  Death  had  been  there ;  its  ven- 
erable and  respected  occupant  had  just  been  borne 
by  his  peers  in  rank  and  station  to  the  neighbor- 
ing graveyard.  Learned,  affable,  intrepid,  a  sturdy 
asserter  of  the  rights  and  liberties  of  the  Province, 
and  so  far  in  advance  of  his  time  as  to  refuse  to 
yield  to  the  terrible  witchcraft  delusion,  vacating 
his  seat  on  the  bench  and  openly  expressing  his 
disapprobation  of  the  violent  and  sanguinary  pro- 
ceedings of  the  court,  wise  in  council  and  prompt 
in  action,  —  not  his  own  townsmen  alone,  but  the 
people  of  the  entire  Province,  had  reason  to  mourn 
the  loss  of  Nathaniel  Saltonstall. 

Four  years  before  the  events  of  which  we  are 
about  to  speak,  the  Indian  allies  of  the  French  in 
Canada  suddenly  made  their  appearance  in  the 
westerly  part  of  the  settlement.  At  the  close  of  a 
midwinter  day  six  savages  rushed  into  the  open 
gate  of  a  garrison-house  owned  by  one  Bradley, 
who  appears  to  have  been  absent  at  the  time.  A 
sentinel,  stationed  in  the  house,  discharged  his 
musket,  killing  the  foremost  Indian,  and  was  him- 
self instantly  shot  down.  The  mistress  of  the 
house,  a  spirited  young  woman,  was  making  soap 
in  a  large  kettle  over  the  fire.  She  seized  her 
ladle  and  dashed  the  boiling  liquid  in  the  faces  of 
the  assailants,  scalding  one  of  them  severely,  and 
was  only  captured  after  such  a  resistance  as  can 
scarcely  be  conceived  of  by  the  delicately  framed 
and  tenderly  nurtured  occupants  of  the  places  of 
our  great-grandmothers.  After  plundering  the 
house,  the  Indians  started  on  their  long  winter 


370  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

march  for  Canada.  Tradition  says  that  some  thir- 
teen persons,  probably  women  and  children,  were 
killed  outright  at  the  garrison.  Goodwife  Brad- 
ley and  four  others  were  spared  as  prisoners.  The 
ground  was  covered  with  deep  snow,  and  the  cap- 
tives were  compelled  to  carry  heavy  burdens  of 
their  plundered  household-stuffs ;  while  for  many 
days  in  succession  they  had  no  other  sustenance 
than  bits  of  hide,  ground-nuts,  the  bark  of  trees, 
and  the  roots  of  wild  onions  and  lilies.  In  this 
situation,  in  the  cold,  wintry  forest,  and  unat- 
tended, the  unhappy  young  woman  gave  birth  to  a 
child.  Its  cries  irritated  the  savages,  who  cruelly 
treated  it  and  threatened  its  life.  To  the  entreaties 
of  the  mother  they  replied,  that  they  would  spare 
it  on  the  condition  that  it  should  be  baptized  after 
their  fashion.  She  gave  the  little  innocent  into 
their  hands,  when  with  mock  solemnity  they  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  its  forehead  by  gashing 
it  "with  their  knives,  and  afterwards  barbarously  put 
it  to  death  before  the  eyes  of  its  mother,  seeming 
to  regard  the  whole  matter  as  an  excellent  piece  of 
sport.  Nothing  so  strongly  excited  the  risibilities 
of  these  grim  barbarians  as  the  tears  and  cries  of 
their  victims,  extorted  by  physical  or  mental  agony. 
Capricious  alike  in  their  cruelties  and  their  kind- 
nesses, they  treated  some  of  their  captives  with 
forbearance  and  consideration  and  tormented  others 
apparently  without  cause.  One  man,  on  his  way 
to  Canada,  was  killed  because  they  did  not  like  his 
looks,  "he  was  so  sour;"  another,  because  he 
was  "  old  and  good  for  nothing."  One  of  their 
own  number,  who  was  suffering  greatly  from  the 


THE  BORDER  WAR   OF  1708  371 

effects  of  the  scalding  soap,  was  derided  and 
mocked  as  a  "  fool  who  had  let  a  squaw  whip  him ; " 
while  on  the  other  hand  the  energy  and  spirit 
manifested  by  Goodwife  Bradley  in  her  defence 
was  a  constant  theme  of  admiration,  and  gained 
her  so  much  respect  among  her  captors  as  to  pro- 
tect her  from  personal  injury  or  insult.  On  her 
arrival  in  Canada  she  was  sold  to  a  French  farmer, 
by  whom  she  was  kindly  treated. 

In  the  mean  time  her  husband  made  every  exer- 
tion in  his  power  to  ascertain  her  fate,  and  early 
in  the  next  year  learned  that  she  was  a  slave  in 
Canada.  He  immediately  set  off  through  the  wil- 
derness on  foot,  accompanied  only  by  his  dog,  who 
drew  a  small  sled,  upon  which  he  carried  some 
provisions  for  his  sustenance,  and  a  bag  of  snuff, 
which  the  Governor  of  the  Province  gave  him  as 
a  present  to  the  Governor  of  Canada.  After 
encountering  almost  incredible  hardships  and  dan- 
gers with  a  perseverance  which  shows  how  well  he 
appreciated  the  good  qualities  of  his  stolen  help- 
mate, he  reached  Montreal  and  betook  himself  to 
the  Governor's  residence.  Travel- worn,  ragged, 
and  wasted  with  cold  and  hunger,  he  was  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  M.  Vaudreuil.  The  courtly 
Frenchman  civilly  received  the  gift  of  the  bag  of 
snuff,  listened  to  the  poor  fellow's  story,  and  put 
him  in  a  way  to  redeem  his  wife  without  difficulty. 
The  joy  of  the  latter  on  seeing  her  husband  in  the 
strange  land  of  her  captivity  may  well  be  imag- 
ined. They  returned  by  water,  landing  at  Boston 
early  in  the  summer. 

There  is  a  tradition  that  this  was  not  the  good- 


372  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

wife's  first  experience  of  Indian  captivity.  The 
late  Dr.  Abiel  Abbott,  in  his  manuscript  of  Judith 
Whiting's  Recollections  of  the  Indian  Wars,  states 
that  she  had  previously  been  a  prisoner,  probably 
before  her  marriage.  After  her  return  she  lived 
quietly  at  the  garrison-house  until  the  summer  of 
the  next  year.  One  bright  moonlit-night  a  party 
of  Indians  were  seen  silently  and  cautiously  ap- 
proaching. The  only  occupants  of  the  garrison  at 
that  time  were  Bradley,  his  wife  and  children,  and 
a  servant.  The  three  adults  armed  themselves 
with  muskets,  and  prepared  to  defend  themselves. 
Goodwife  Bradley,  supposing  the  Indians  had 
come  with  the  intention  of  again  capturing  her, 
encouraged  her  husband  to  fight  to  the  last,  declar- 
ing that  she  had  rather  die  on  her  own  hearth  than 
fall  into  their  hands.  The  Indians  rushed  upon 
the  garrison,  and  assailed  the  thick  oaken  door, 
which  they  forced  partly  open,  when  a  well-aimed 
shot  from  Goodwife  Bradley  laid  the  foremost  dead 
on  the  threshold.  The  loss  of  their  leader  so  dis- 
heartened them  that  they  made  a  hasty  retreat. 

The  year  1707  passed  away  without  any  attack 
upon  the  exposed  frontier  settlement.  A  feeling 
of  comparative  security  succeeded  to  the  almost 
sleepless  anxiety  and  terror  of  the  inhabitants ; 
and  they  were  beginning  to  congratulate  each  other 
upon  the  termination  of  their  long  and  bitter  trials. 
But  the  end  was  not  yet. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1708,  the  principal  tribes 
of  Indians  in  alliance  with  the  French  held  a  great 
council,  and  agreed  to  furnish  three  hundred  war- 
riors for  an  expedition  to  the  English  frontier. 


THE  BORDER  WAR  OF  1708  373 

They  were  joined  by  one  hundred  French  Cana- 
dians and  several  volunteers,  consisting  of  officers 
of  the  French  array,  and  younger  sons  of  the  nobil- 
ity, adventurous  and  unscrupulous.  The  Sieur  de 
Chaillons,  and  Hertel  de  Rouville,  distinguished  as 
a  partisan  in  former  expeditions,  cruel  and  unspar- 
ing as  his  Indian  allies,  commanded  the  French 
troops ;  the  Indians,  marshalled  under  their  several 
chiefs,  obeyed  the  general  orders  of  La  Perriere. 
A  Catholic  priest  accompanied  them.  De  Rou- 
ville, with  the  French  troops  and  a  portion  of  the 
Indians,  took  the  route  by  the  River  St.  Fran£ois 
about  the  middle  of  summer.  La  Perriere,  with 
the  French  Mohawks,  crossed  Lake  Champlain. 
The  place  of  rendezvous  was  Lake  Nickisipigue. 
On  the  way  a  Huron  accidentally  killed  one  of  his 
companions ;  whereupon  the  tribe  insisted  on  halt- 
ing and  holding  a  council.  It  was  gravely  decided 
that  this  accident  was  an  evil  omen,  and  that  the 
expedition  would  prove  disastrous ;  and,  in  spite 
of  the  endeavors  of  the  French  officers,  the  whole 
band  deserted.  Next  the  Mohawks  became  dissat- 
isfied, and  refused  to  proceed.  To  the  entreaties 
and  promises  of  their  French  allies  they  replied 
that  an  infectious  disease  had  broken  out  among 
them,  and  that,  if  they  remained,  it  would  spread 
through  the  whole  army.  The  French  partisans 
were  not  deceived  by  a  falsehood  so  transparent ; 
but  they  were  in  no  condition  to  enforce  obedi- 
ence ;  and,  with  bitter  execrations  and  reproaches, 
they  saw  the  Mohawks  turn  back  on  their  war- 
path. The  diminished  army  pressed  on  to  Nicki- 
sipigue, in  the  expectation  of  meeting,  agreeably 


374  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

to  their  promise,  the  Norridgewock  and  Penobscot 
Indians.  They  found  the  place  deserted,  and,  after 
waiting  for  some  days,  were  forced  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  Eastern  tribes  had  broken  their 
pledge  of  cooperation.  Under  these  circumstances 
a  council  was  held ;  and  the  original  design  of  the 
expedition,  namely,  the  destruction  of  the  whole 
line  of  frontier  towns,  beginning  with  Portsmouth, 
was  abandoned.  They  had  still  a  sufficient  force 
for  the  surprise  of  a  single  settlement ;  and  Haver- 
hill,  on  the  Merrimac,  was  selected  for  conquest. 

In  the  mean  time,  intelligence  of  the  expedition, 
greatly  exaggerated  in  point  of  numbers  and  ob- 
ject, had  reached  Boston,  and  Governor  Dudley 
had  despatched  troops  to  the  more  exposed  out- 
posts of  the  Provinces  of  Massachusetts  and  New 
Hampshire.  Forty  men,  under  the  command  of 
Major  Turner  and  Captains  Price  and  Gardner, 
were  stationed  at  Haverhill  in  the  different  gar- 
rison-houses. At  first  a  good  degree  of  vigilance 
was  manifested;  but,  as  days  and  weeks  passed 
without  any  alarm,  the  inhabitants  relapsed  into 
their  old  habits ;  and  some  even  began  to  believe 
that  the  rumored  descent  of  the  Indians  was  only 
a  pretext  for  quartering  upon  them  twoscore  of 
lazy,  rollicking  soldiers,  who  certainly  seemed  more 
expert  in  making  love  to  their  daughters,  and 
drinking  their  best  ale  and  cider,  than  in  patrol- 
ling the  woods  or  putting  the  garrisons  into  a  de- 
fensible state.  The  grain  and  hay  harvest  ended 
without  disturbance;  the  men  worked  in  their 
fields,  and  the  women  pursued  their  household 
avocations,  without  any  very  serious  apprehension 
of  danger. 


THE  BORDER  WAR   OF  1708  375 

Among  the  inhabitants  of  the  village  was  an 
eccentric,  ne'er-do-well  fellow,  named  Keezar,  who 
led  a  wandering,  unsettled  life,  oscillating,  like  a 
crazy  pendulum,  between  Haverhill  and  Ames- 
bury.  He  had  a  smattering  of  a  variety  of  trades, 
was  a  famous  wrestler,  and  for  a  mug  of  ale  would 
leap  over  an  ox-cart  with  the  unspilled  beverage  in 
his  hand.  On  one  occasion,  when  at  supper,  his 
wife  complained  that  she  had  no  tin  dishes  ;  and, 
as  there  were  none  to  be  obtained  nearer  than 
Boston,  he  started  on  foot  in  the  evening,  travelled 
through  the  woods  to  the  city,  and  returned  with 
his  ware  by  sunrise  the  next  morning,  passing  over 
a  distance  of  between  sixty  and  seventy  miles. 
The  tradition  of  his  strange  habits,  feats  of 
strength,  and  wicked  practical  jokes  is  still  com- 
mon in  his  native  town.  On  the  morning  of  the 
29th  of  the  eighth  month  he  was  engaged  in  taking 
home  his  horse,  which,  according  to  his  custom,  he 
had  turned  into  his  neighbor's  rich  clover  field  the 
evening  previous.  By  the  gray  light  of  dawn  he 
saw  a  long  file  of  men  marching  silently  towards 
the  town.  He  hurried  back  to  the  village  and 
gave  the  alarm  by  firing  a  gun.  Previous  to  this, 
however,  a  young  man  belonging  to  a  neighboring 
town,  who  had  been  spending  the  night  with  a 
young  woman  of  the  village,  had  met  the  advance 
of  the  war-party,  and,  turning  back  in  extreme  ter- 
ror and  confusion,  thought  only  of  the  safety  of  his 
betrothed,  and  passed  silently  through  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  village  to  her  dwelling.  After  he 
had  effectually  concealed  her  he  ran  out  to  give 
the  alarm.  But  it  was  too  late.  Keezar's  gun 


376  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

was  answered  by  the  terrific  yells,  whistling,  and 
whooping  of  the  Indians.  House  after  house  was 
assailed  and  captured.  Men,  women,  and  children 
were  massacred.  The  minister  of  the  town  was 
killed  by  a  shot  through  his  door.  Two  of  his 
children  were  saved  by  the  courage  and  sagacity 
of  his  negro  slave  Hagar.  She  carried  them  into 
the  cellar  and  covered  them  with  tubs,  and  then 
crouched  behind  a  barrel  of  meat  just  in  time  to 
escape  the  vigilant  eyes  of  the  enemy,  who  entered 
the  cellar  and  plundered  it.  She  saw  them  pass 
and  repass  the  tubs  under  which  the  children  lay 
and  take  meat  from  the  very  barrel  which  con- 
cealed herself.  Three  soldiers  were  quartered  in 
the  house ;  but  they  made  no  defence,  and  were 
killed  while  begging  for  quarter. 

The  wife  of  Thomas  Hartshorne,  after  her  hus- 
band and  three  sons  had  fallen,  took  her  younger 
children  into  the  cellar,  leaving  an  infant  on  a  bed 
in  the  garret,  fearful  that  its  cries  would  betray 
her  place  of  concealment  if  she  took  it  with  her. 
The  Indians  entered  the  garret  and  tossed  the 
child  out  of  the  window  upon  a  pile  of  clapboards, 
where  it  was  afterwards  found  stunned  and  insen- 
sible. It  recovered,  nevertheless,  and  became  a 
man  of  remarkable  strength  and  stature ;  and  it 
used  to  be  a  standing  joke  with  his  friends  that  he 
had  been  stinted  by  the  Indians  when  they  threw 
him  out  of  the  window.  Goodwife  Swan,  armed 
with  a  long  spit,  successfully  defended  her  door 
against  two  Indians.  While  the  massacre  went 
on,  the  priest  who  accompanied  the  expedition, 
with  some  of  the  French  officers,  went  into  the 


THE  BORDER    WAR  OF  1708  377 

meeting-house,  the  walls  of  which  were  afterwards 
found  written  over  with  chalk.  At  sunrise,  Major 
Turner,  with  a  portion  of  his  soldiers,  entered  the 
village ;  and  the  enemy  made  a  rapid  retreat,  carry- 
ing with  them  seventeen  prisoners.  They  were 
pursued  and  overtaken  just  as  they  were  entering 
the  woods ;  and  a  severe  skirmish  took  place,  in 
which  the  rescue  of  some  of  the  prisoners  was 
effected.  Thirty  of  the  enemy  were  left  dead  on 
the  field,  including  the  infamous  Hertel  de  Rou- 
ville.  On  the  part  of  the  villagers,  Captains  Ayer 
and  Wainwright  and  Lieutenant  Johnson,  with 
thirteen  others,  were  killed.  The  intense  heat  of 
the  weather  made  it  necessary  to  bury  the  dead 
on  the  same  day.  They  were  laid  side  by  side  in  a 
long  trench  in  the  burial-ground.  The  body  of  the 
venerated  and  lamented  minister,  with  those  of  his 
wife  and  child,  sleep  in  another  part  of  the  burial- 
ground,  where  may  still  be  seen  a  rude  monument 
with  its  almost  illegible  inscription :  — 

"  Clauditur  hoc  tumulo  corpus  Reverendi  pii 
doctique  viri  D.  Benjamin  Rolfe,  ecclesice  Christi 
quce  est  in  Haverhill  pastoris  fidelissimi ;  qui 
domi  suco  ab  hostibus  barbare  trucidatus.  A 
laboribus  suis  requievit  mane  diei  sacrce  quietis, 
Aug.  XXIX,  anno  Dom.  MD  CC  VIII.  ^tatis 
suce  XL  VI." 

Of  the  prisoners  taken,  some  escaped  during  the 
skirmish,  and  two  or  three  were  sent  back  by  the 
French  officers,  with  a  message  to  the  English 
soldiers,  that,  if  they  pursued  the  party  on  their 
retreat  to  Canada,  the  other  prisoners  should  be 
put  to  death.  One  of  them,  a  soldier  stationed  in 


378  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

Captain  Wainwright's  garrison,  on  his  return  four 
years  after,  published  an  account  of  his  captivity. 
He  was  compelled  to  carry  a  heavy  pack,  and  was 
led  by  an  Indian  by  a  cord  round  his  neck.  The 
whole  party  suffered  terribly  from  hunger.  On 
reaching  Canada  the  Indians  shaved  one  side  of 
his  head,  and  greased  the  other,  and  painted  his 
face.  At  a  fort  nine  miles  from  Montreal  a  coun- 
cil was  held  in  order  to  decide  his  fate  ;  and  he  had 
the  unenviable  privilege  of  listening  to  a  protracted 
discussion  upon  the  expediency  of  burning  him. 
The  fire  was  already  kindled,  and  the  poor  fellow 
was  preparing  to  meet  his  doom  with  firmness, 
when  it  was  announced  to  him  that  his  life  was 
spared.  This  result  of  the  council  by  no  means 
satisfied  the  women  and  boys,  who  had  anticipated 
rare  sport  in  the  roasting  of  a  white  man  and  a 
heretic.  One  squaw  assailed  him  with  a  knife  and 
cut  off  one  of  his  fingers  ;  another  beat  him  with 
a  pole.  The  Indians  spent  the  night  in  dancing 
and  singing,  compelling  their  prisoner  to  go  round 
the  ring  with  them.  In  the  morning  one  of  their 
orators  made  a  long  speech  to  him,  and  formally 
delivered  him  over  to  an  old  squaw,  who  took  him 
to  her  wigwam  and  treated  him  kindly.  Two  or 
three  of  the  young  women  who  were  carried  away 
captive  married  Frenchmen  in  Canada  and  never 
returned.  Instances  of  this  kind  were  by  no 
means  rare  during  the  Indian  wars.  The  simple 
manners,  gayety,  and  social  habits  of  the  French 
colonists  among  whom  the  captives  were  dispersed 
seem  to  have  been  peculiarly  fascinating  to  the 
daughters  of  the  grave  and  severe  Puritans. 


THE  BORDER  WAR   OF  1708  379 

At  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  Judith 
Whiting  was  the  solitary  survivor  of  all  who  wit- 
nessed the  inroad  of  the  French  and  Indians  in 
1708.  She  was  eight  years  of  age  at  the  time  of 
the  attack,  and  her  memory  of  it  to  the  last  was 
distinct  and  vivid.  Upon  her  old  brain,  from 
whence  a  great  portion  of  the  records  of  the  inter- 
vening years  had  been  obliterated,  that  terrible 
picture,  traced  with  fire  and  blood,  retained  its 
sharp  outlines  and  baleful  colors. 


THE  GREAT  IPSWICH  FRIGHT. 

"  The  Frere  into  the  dark  gazed  forth ; 
The  sounds  went  onward  towards  the  north ; 
The  murmur  of  tongues,  the  tramp  and  tread 
Of  a  mighty  army  to  battle  led." 

BALLAD  OF  THE  Cn>. 

LIFE'S  tragedy  and  comedy  are  never  far  apart. 
The  ludicrous  and  the  sublime,  the  grotesque  and 
the  pathetic,  jostle  each  other  on  the  stage ;  the 
jester,  with  his  cap  and  bells,  struts  alongside  of 
the  hero ;  the  lord  mayor's  pageant  loses  itself  in 
the  mob  around  Punch  and  Judy ;  the  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  war  become  mirth-provoking  in  a 
militia  muster ;  and  the  majesty  of  the  law  is 
ridiculous  in  the  mock  dignity  of  a  justice's  court. 
The  laughing  philosopher  of  old  looked  on  one 
side  of  life  and  his  weeping  contemporary  on  the 
other ;  but  he  who  has  an  eye  to  both  must  often 
experience  that  contrariety  of  feeling  which  Sterne 
compares  to  "  the  contest  in  the  moist  eyelids  of 
an  April  morning,  whether  to  laugh  or  cry." 

The  circumstance  we  are  about  to  relate  may 
serve  as  an  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  the 
woof  of  comedy  interweaves  with  the  warp  of 
tragedy.  It  occurred  in  the  early  stages  of  the 
American  Revolution,  and  is  part  and  parcel  of 
its  history  in  the  northeastern  section  of  Massa- 
chusetts. 


THE   GREAT  IPSWICH  FRIGHT        381 

About  midway  between  Salem  and  the  ancient 
town  of  Newburyport,  the  traveller  on  the  Eastern 
Railroad  sees  on  the  right,  between  him  and  the 
sea,  a  tall  church-spire,  rising  above  a  semicircle 
of  brown  roofs  and  venerable  elms ;  to  which  a 
long  scalloping  range  of  hills,  sweeping  off  to  the 
seaside,  forms  a  green  background.  This  is  Ips- 
wich, the  ancient  Agawam ;  one  of  those  steady, 
conservative  villages,  of  which  a  few  are  still  left 
in  New  England,  wherein  a  contemporary  of  Cot- 
ton Mather  and  Governor  Endicott,  were  he  per- 
mitted to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  painful  probation, 
would  scarcely  feel  himself  a  stranger.  Law  and 
Gospel,  embodied  in  an  orthodox  steeple  and  a 
court-house,  occupy  the  steep,  rocky  eminence  in  its 
midst ;  below  runs  the  small  river  under  its  pictu- 
resque stone  bridge ;  and  beyond  is  the  famous  fe- 
male seminary,  where  Andover  theological  students 
are  wont  to  take  unto  themselves  wives  of  the 
daughters  of  the  Puritans.  An  air  of  comfort  and 
quiet  broods  over  the  whole  town.  Yellow  moss 
clings  to  the  seaward  sides  of  the  roofs ;  one's  eyes 
are  not  endangered  by  the  intense  glare  of  painted 
shingles  and  clapboards.  The  smoke  of  hospitable 
kitchens  curls  up  through  the  overshadowing  elms 
from  huge-throated  chimneys,  whose  hearth-stones 
have  been  worn  by  the  feet  of  many  generations. 
The  tavern  was  once  renowned  throughout  New 
England,  and  it  is  still  a  creditable  hostelry.  Dur- 
ing court  time  it  is  crowded  with  jocose  lawyers, 
anxious  clients,  sleepy  jurors,  and  miscellaneous 
hangers  on ;  disinterested  gentlemen,  who  have  no 
particular  business  of  their  own  in  court,  but  who 


382  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

regularly  attend  its  sessions,  weighing  evidence, 
deciding  upon  the  merits  of  a  lawyer's  plea  or  a 
judge's  charge,  getting  up  extempore  trials  upon 
the  piazza  or  in  the  bar-room  of  cases  still  in- 
volved in  the  glorious  uncertainty  of  the  law  in 
the  court-house,  proffering  gratuitous  legal  advice 
to  irascible  plaintiffs  and  desponding  defendants, 
and  in  various  other  ways  seeing  that  the  Com- 
monwealth receives  no  detriment.  In  the  autumn 
old  sportsmen  make  the  tavern  their  headquarters 
while  scouring  the  marshes  for  sea-birds  ;  and  slim 
young  gentlemen  from  the  city  return  thither  with 
empty  game-bags,  as  guiltless  in  respect  to  the 
snipes  and  wagtails  as  Winkle  was  in  the  matter  of 
the  rooks,  after  his  shooting  excursion  at  Dingle 
Dell.  Twice,  nay,  three  times,  a  year,  since  third 
parties  have  been  in  fashion,  the  delegates  of  the 
political  churches  assemble  in  Ipswich  to  pass 
patriotic  resolutions,  and  designate  the  candidates 
whom  the  good  people  of  Essex  County,  with  im- 
plicit faith  in  the  wisdom  of  the  selection,  are  ex- 
pected to  vote  for.  For  the  rest  there  are  pleasant 
walks  and  drives  around  the  picturesque  village. 
The  people  are  noted  for  their  hospitality ;  in  sum- 
mer the  sea-wind  blows  cool  over  its  healthy  hills, 
and,  take  it  for  all  in  all,  there  is  not  a  better  pre- 
served or  pleasanter  specimen  of  a  Puritan  town 
remaining  in  the  ancient  Commonwealth. 

The  21st  of  April,  1775,  witnessed  an  awful  com- 
motion in  the  little  village  of  Ipswich.  Old  men, 
and  boys,  (the  middle-aged  had  marched  to  Lex- 
ington some  days  before,)  and  all  the  women  in 
the  place  who  were  not  bedridden  or  sick,  came 


THE  GREAT  IPSWICH  FRIGHT        383 

rushing  as  with  one  accord  to  the  green  in  front 
of  the  meeting-house.  A  rumor,  which  no  one  at- 
tempted to  trace  or  authenticate,  spread  from  lip 
to  lip  that  the  British  regulars  had  landed  on  the 
coast  and  were  marching  upon  the  town.  A  scene 
of  indescribable  terror  and  confusion  followed. 
Defence  was  out  of  the  question,  as  the  young  and 
able-bodied  men  of  the  entire  region  round  about 
had  marched  to  Cambridge  and  Lexington.  The 
news  of  the  battle  at  the  latter  place,  exaggerated 
in  all  its  details,  had  been  just  received ;  terrible 
stories  of  the  atrocities  committed  by  the  dreaded 
"  regulars  "  had  been  related ;  and  it  was  believed 
that  nothing  short  of  a  general  extermination  of 
the  patriots  —  men,  women,  and  children  —  was 
contemplated  by  the  British  commander.  Almost 
simultaneously  the  people  of  Beverly,  a  village  a 
few  miles  distant,  were  smitten  with  the  same 
terror.  How  the  rumor  was  communicated  no  one 
could  tell.  It  was  there  believed  that  the  enemy 
had  fallen  upon  Ipswich,  and  massacred  the  inhab- 
itants without  regard  to  age  or  sex. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  of  this 
day  that  the  people  of  Newbury,  ten  miles  farther 
north,  assembled  in  an  informal  meeting  at  the 
town-house  to  hear  accounts  from  the  Lexington 
fight,  and  to  consider  what  action  was  necessary 
in  consequence  of  that  event.  Parson  Carey  was 
about  opening  the  meeting  with  prayer  when  hur- 
ried hoof-beats  sounded  up  the  street,  and  a  mes- 
senger, loose-haired  and  panting  for  breath,  rushed 
up  the  staircase.  "  Turn  out,  turn  out,  for  God's 
sake,"  he  cried,  "  or  you  will  be  all  killed !  The 


384  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

regulars  are  marching  on  us  ;  they  are  at  Ipswich 
now,  cutting  and  slashing  all  before  them  !  "  Uni- 
versal consternation  was  the  immediate  result  of 
this  fearful  announcement ;  Parson  Carey's  prayer 
died  on  his  lips  ;  the  congregation  dispersed  over 
the  town,  carrying  to  every  house  the  tidings  that 
the  regulars  had  come.  Men  on  horseback  went 
galloping  up  and  down  the  streets,  shouting  the 
alarm.  Women  and  children  echoed  it  from  every 
corner.  The  panic  became  irresistible,  uncontrol- 
lable. Cries  were  heard  that  the  dreaded  invaders 
had  reached  Oldtown  Bridge,  a  little  distance  from 
the  village,  and  that  they  were  killing  all  whom  they 
encountered.  Flight  was  resolved  upon.  All  the 
horses  and  vehicles  in  the  town  were  put  in  requi- 
sition ;  men,  women,  and  children  hurried  as  for 
life  towards  the  north.  Some  threw  their  silver 
and  pewter  ware  and  other  valuables  into  wells. 
Large  numbers  crossed  the  Merrimac,  and  spent 
the  night  in  the  deserted  houses  of  Salisbury, 
whose  inhabitants,  stricken  by  the  strange  terror, 
had  fled  into  New  Hampshire,  to  take  up  their 
lodgings  in  dwellings  also  abandoned  by  their 
owners.  A  few  individuals  refused  to  fly  with  the 
multitude  ;  some,  unable  to  move  by  reason  of  sick- 
ness, were  left  behind  by  their  relatives.  One  old 
gentleman,  whose  excessive  corpulence  rendered 
retreat  on  his  part  impossible,  made  a  virtue  of  ne- 
cessity ;  and,  seating  himself  in  his  doorway  with 
his  loaded  king's  arm,  upbraided  his  more  nimble 
neighbors,  advising  them  to  do  as  he  did,  and 
"  stop  and  shoot  the  devils."  Many  ludicrous  in- 
stances of  the  intensity  of  the  terror  might  be  re- 


THE   GREAT  IPSWICH  FRIGHT        385 

lated.  One  man  got  his  family  into  a  boat  to  go 
to  Earn  Island  for  safety.  He  imagined  lie  was 
pursued  by  the  enemy  through  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  and  was  annoyed  by  the  crying  of  an  in- 
fant in  the  after  part  of  the  boat.  "  Do  throw  that 
squalling  brat  overboard,"  he  called  to  his  wife, 
"  or  we  shall  be  all  discovered  and  killed  !  "  A 
poor  woman  ran  four  or  five  miles  up  the  river, 
and  stopped  to  take  breath  and  nurse  her  child, 
when  she  found  to  her  great  horror  that  she  had 
brought  off  the  cat  instead  of  the  baby ! 

All  through  that  memorable  night  the  terror 
swept  onward  towards  the  north  with  a  speed 
which  seems  almost  miraculous,  producing  every- 
where the  same  results.  At  midnight  a  horseman, 
clad  only  in  shirt  and  breeches,  dashed  by  our 
grandfather's  door,  in  Haverhill,  twenty  miles  up 
the  river.  "  Turn  out !  Get  a  musket !  Turn 
out !  "  he  shouted ;  "  the  regulars  are  landing  on 
Plum  Island !  "  "  I  'm  glad  of  it,"  responded  the 
old  gentleman  from  his  chamber  window  ;  "  I  wish 
they  were  all  there,  and  obliged  to  stay  there." 
When  it  is  understood  that  Plum  Island  is  little 
more  than  a  naked  sand-ridge,  the  benevolence 
of  this  wish  can  be  readily  appreciated. 

All  the  boats  on  the  river  were  constantly  em- 
ployed for  several  hours  in  conveying  across  the 
terrified  fugitives.  Through  "  the  dead  waste  and 
middle  of  the  night "  they  fled  over  the  border 
into  New  Hampshire.  Some  feared  to  take  the 
frequented  roads,  and  wandered  over  wooded  hills 
and  through  swamps  where  the  snows  of  the  late 
winter  had  scarcely  melted.  They  heard  the  tramp 


386  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

and  outcry  of  those  behind  them,  and  fancied  that 
the  sounds  were  made  by  pursuing  enemies.  Fast 
as  they  fled,  the  terror,  by  some  unaccountable 
means,  outstripped  them.  They  found  houses  de- 
serted and  streets  strewn  with  household  stuffs, 
abandoned  in  the  hurry  of  escape.  Towards  morn- 
ing, however,  the  tide  partially  turned.  Grown 
men  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  their  fears.  The 
old  Anglo-Saxon  hardihood  paused  and  looked  the 
terror  in  its  face.  Single  or  in  small  parties,  armed 
with  such  weapons  as  they  found  at  hand,  —  among 
which  long  poles,  sharpened  and  charred  at  the 
end,  were  conspicuous,  —  they  began  to  retrace 
their  steps.  In  the  mean  time  such  of  the  good 
people  of  Ipswich  as  were  unable  or  unwilling  to 
leave  their  homes  became  convinced  that  the  ter- 
rible rumor  which  had  nearly  depopulated  their 
settlement  was  unfounded. 

Among  those  who  had  there  awaited  the  on- 
slaught of  the  regulars  was  a  young  man  from 
Exeter,  New  Hampshire.  Becoming  satisfied  that 
the  whole  matter  was  a  delusion,  he  mounted  his 
horse  and  followed  after  the  retreating  multitude, 
undeceiving  all  whom  he  overtook.  Late  at  night 
he  reached  Newburyport,  greatly  to  the  relief  of  its 
sleepless  inhabitants,  and  hurried  across  the  river, 
proclaiming  as  he  rode  the  welcome  tidings.  The 
sun  rose  upon  haggard  and  jaded  fugitives,  worn 
with  excitement  and  fatigue,  slowly  returning  home- 
ward, their  satisfaction  at  the  absence  of  danger 
somewhat  moderated  by  an  unpleasant  conscious- 
ness of  the  ludicrous  scenes  of  their  premature 
night  flitting. 


THE  GREAT  IPSWICH  FRIGHT        387 

Any  inference  which  might  be  drawn  from  the 
foregoing  narrative  derogatory  to  the  character  of 
the  people  of  New  England  at  that  day,  on  the 
score  of  courage,  would  be  essentially  erroneous. 
It  is  true,  they  were  not  the  men  to  court  danger 
or  rashly  throw  away  their  lives  for  the  mere  glory 
of  the  sacrifice.  They  had  always  a  prudent  and 
wholesome  regard  to  their  own  comfort  and  safety ; 
they  justly  looked  upon  sound  heads  and  limbs  as 
better  than  broken  ones ;  life  was  to  them  too 
serious  and  important,  and  their  hard-gained  prop- 
erty too  valuable,  to  be  lightly  hazarded.  They 
never  attempted  to  cheat  themselves  by  under-esti- 
mating the  difficulty  to  be  encountered,  or  shutting 
their  eyes  to  its  probable  consequences.  Cautious, 
wary,  schooled  in  the  subtle  strategy  of  Indian 
warfare,  where  self-preservation  is  by  no  means  a 
secondary  object,  they  had  little  in  common  with 
the  reckless  enthusiasm  of  their  French  allies,  or 
the  stolid  indifference  of  the  fighting  machines  of 
the  British  regular  army.  When  danger  could  no 
longer  be  avoided,  they  met  it  with  firmness  and 
iron  endurance,  but  with  a  very  vivid  appreciation 
of  its  magnitude.  Indeed,  it  must  be  admitted  by 
all  who  are  familiar  with  the  history  of  our  fathers 
that  the  element  of  fear  held  an  important  place 
among  their  characteristics.  It  exaggerated  all  the 
dangers  of  their  earthly  pilgrimage,  and  peopled 
the  future  with  shapes  of  evil.  Their  fear  of  Satan 
invested  him  with  some  of  the  attributes  of  Omnip- 
otence, and  almost  reached  the  point  of  reverence. 
The  slightest  shock  of  an  earthquake  filled  all 
hearts  with  terror.  Stout  men  trembled  by  their 


388  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

hearths  with  dread  of  some  paralytic  old  woman 
supposed  to  be  a  witch.  And  when  they  believed 
themselves  called  upon  to  grapple  with  these  ter- 
rors and  endure  the  afflictions  of  their  allotment, 
they  brought  to  the  trial  a  capability  of  suffering 
undiminished  by  the  chloroform  of  modern  philos- 
ophy. They  were  heroic  in  endurance.  Panics 
like  the  one  we  have  described  might  bow  and 
sway  them  like  reeds  in  the  wind ;  but  they  stood 
up  like  the  oaks  of  their  own  forests  beneath  the 
thunder  and  the  hail  of  actual  calamity. 

It  was  certainly  lucky  for  the  good  people  of 
Essex  County  that  no  wicked  wag  of  a  Tory  un- 
dertook to  immortalize  in  rhyme  their  ridiculous 
hegira,  as  Judge  Hopkinson  did  the  famous  Bat- 
tle of  the  Kegs  in  Philadelphia.  Like  the  more 
recent  Madawaska  war  in  Maine,  the  great  Che- 
patchet  demonstration  in  Rhode  Island,  and  the 
"  Sauk  fuss  "  of  Wisconsin,  it  remains  to  this  day 
" unsyllabled,  unsung;  "  and  the  fast-fading  mem- 
ory of  age  alone  preserves  the  unwritten  history  of 
the  great  Ipswich  fright. 


POPE  NIGHT. 

"  Lay  up  the  fagots  neat  and  trim ; 
Pile  'em  up  higher; 
Set  'em  afire ! 
The  Pope  roasts  us,  and  we  '11  roast  him !  " 

Old  Song. 

THE  recent  attempt  of  the  Komish  Church  to 
reestablish  its  hierarchy  in  Great  Britain,  with 
the  new  cardinal,  Dr.  Wiseman,  at  its  head,  seems 
to  have  revived  an  old  popular  custom,  a  grim 
piece  of  Protestant  sport,  which,  since  the  days  of 
Lord  George  Gordon  and  the  "  No  Popery  "  mob, 
had  very  generally  fallen  into  disuse.  On  the  5th 
of  the  eleventh  month  of  this  present  year  all  Eng- 
land was  traversed  by  processions  and  lighted  up 
with  bonfires,  in  commemoration  of  the  detection 
of  the  "  gunpowder  plot  "  of  Guy  Fawkes  and  the 
Papists  in  1605.  Popes,  bishops,  and  cardinals,  in 
straw  and  pasteboard,  were  paraded  through  the 
streets  and  burned  amid  the  shouts  of  the  popu- 
lace, a  great  portion  of  whom  would  have  doubt- 
less been  quite  as  ready  to  do  the  same  pleasant 
little  office  for  the  Bishop  of  Exeter  or  his  Grace 
of  Canterbury,  if  they  could  have  carted  about  and 
burned  in  effigy  a  Protestant  hierarchy  as  safely 
as  a  Catholic  one. 

In  this  country,  where  every  sect  takes  its  own 
way,  undisturbed  by  legal  restrictions,  each  eccle- 


390  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

siastical  tub  balancing  itself  as  it  best  may  on  its 
own  bottom,  and  where  bishops  Catholic  and  bish- 
ops Episcopal,  bishops  Methodist  and  bishops  Mor- 
mon, jostle  each  other  in  our  thoroughfares,  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  we  should  trouble  our- 
selves with  the  matter  at  issue  between  the  rival 
hierarchies  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  It  is  a 
very  pretty  quarrel,  however,  and  good  must  come 
out  of  it,  as  it  cannot  fail  to  attract  popular  atten- 
tion to  the  shallowness  of  the  spiritual  pretensions 
of  both  parties,  and  lead  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
hierarchy  of  any  sort  has  very  little  in  common 
with  the  fishermen  and  tent-makers  of  the  New 
Testament. 

Pope  Night  —  the  anniversary  of  the  discovery 
of  the  Papal  incendiary  Guy  Fawkes,  booted  and 
spurred,  ready  to  touch  fire  to  his  powder-train 
under  the  Parliament  House  —  was  celebrated  by 
the  early  settlers  of  New  England,  and  doubtless 
afforded  a  good  deal  of  relief  to  the  younger  plants 
of  grace  in  the  Puritan  vineyard.  In  those  solemn 
old  days,  the  recurrence  of  the  powder-plot  anni- 
versary, with  its  processions,  hideous  images  of  the 
Pope  and  Guy  Fawkes,  its  liberal  potations  of 
strong  waters,  and  its  blazing  bonfires  reddening 
the  wild  November  hills,  must  have  been  looked 
forward  to  with  no  slight  degree  of  pleasure.  For 
one  night,  at  least,  the  cramped  and  smothered 
fun  and  mischief  of  the  younger  generation  were 
permitted  to  revel  in  the  wild  extravagance  of  a 
Roman  saturnalia  or  the  Christmas  holidays  of  a 
slave  plantation.  Bigotry  —  frowning  upon  the 
May-pole,  with  its  flower  wreaths  and  sportive 


POPE  NIGHT  391 

revellers,  and  counting  the  steps  of  the  dancers  as 
so  many  steps  towards  perdition  —  recognized  in 
the  grim  farce  of  Guy  Fawkes's  anniversary  some- 
thing of  its  own  lineaments,  smiled  complacently 
upon  the  riotous  young  actors,  and  opened  its 
close  purse  to  furnish  tar-barrels  to  roast  the  Pope, 
and  strong  water  to  moisten  the  throats  of  his 
noisy  judges  and  executioners. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  Revolution  the  powder 
plot  was  duly  commemorated  throughout  New  Eng- 
land. At  that  period  the  celebration  of  it  was  dis- 
countenanced, and  in  many  places  prohibited,  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  insulting  to  our  Catholic 
allies  from  France.  In  Coffin's  History  of  New- 
bury  it  is  stated  that,  in  1774,  the  town  authorities 
of  Newburyport  ordered  "  that  no  effigies  be  car- 
ried about  or  exhibited  only  in  the  daytime."  The 
last  public  celebration  in  that  town  was  in  the  fol- 
lowing year.  Long  before  the  close  of  the  last 
century  the  exhibitions  of  Pope  Night  had  entirely 
ceased  throughout  the  country,  with,  as  far  as  we 
can  learn,  a  solitary  exception.  The  stranger  who 
chances  to  be  travelling  on  the  road  between  New- 
buryport and  Haverhill,  on  the  night  of  the  5th 
of  November,  may  well  fancy  that  an  invasion  is 
threatened  from  the  sea,  or  that  an  insurrection  is 
going  on  inland ;  for  from  all  the  high  hills  over- 
looking the  river  tall  fires  are  seen  blazing  redly 
against  the  cold,  dark,  autumnal  sky,  surrounded 
by  groups  of  young  men  and  boys  busily  engaged 
in  urging  them  with  fresh  fuel  into  intenser  activ- 
ity. To  feed  these  bonfires,  everything  combusti- 
ble which  could  be  begged  or  stolen  from  the  neigh- 


392  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

boring  villages,  farm-houses,  and  fences  is  put  in 
requisition.  Old  tar-tubs,  purloined  from  the  ship- 
builders of  the  river-side,  and  flour  and  lard  bar- 
rels from  the  village-traders,  are  stored  away  for 
days,  and  perhaps  weeks,  in  the  woods  or  in  the 
rain-gullies  of  the  hills,  in  preparation  for  Pope 
Night.  From  the  earliest  settlement  of  the  towns 
of  Amesbury  and  Salisbury,  the  night  of  the  pow- 
der plot  has  been  thus  celebrated,  with  unbroken 
regularity,  down  to  the  present  time.  The  event 
which  it  once  commemorated  is  probably  now  un- 
known to  most  of  the  juvenile  actors.  The  symbol 
lives  on  from  generation  to  generation  after  the 
significance  is  lost ;  and  we  have  seen  the  children 
of  our  Catholic  neighbors  as  busy  as  their  Protes- 
tant playmates  in  collecting,  "by  hook  or  by 
crook,"  the  materials  for  Pope-Night  bonfires.  We 
remember,  on  one  occasion,  walking  out  with  a 
gifted  and  learned  Catholic  friend  to  witness  the 
fine  effect  of  the  illumination  on  the  hills,  and  his 
hearty  appreciation  of  its  picturesque  and  wild 
beauty,  —  the  busy  groups  in  the  strong  relief  of 
the  fires,  and  the  play  and  corruscation  of  the 
changeful  lights  on  the  bare,  brown  hills,  naked 
trees,  and  autumn  clouds. 

In  addition  to  the  bonfires  on  the  hills,  there 
was  formerly  a  procession  in  the  streets,  bearing 
grotesque  images  of  the  Pope,  his  cardinals  and 
friars  ;  and  behind  them  Satan  himself,  a  monster 
with  huge  ox-horns  on  his  head,  and  a  long  tail, 
brandishing  his  pitchfork  and  goading  them  on- 
ward. The  Pope  was  generally  furnished  with  a 
movable  head,  which  could  be  turned  round,  thrown 


POPE  NIGHT  393 

back,  or  made  to  bow,  like  that  of  a  china-ware 
mandarin.  An  aged  inhabitant  of  the  neighbor- 
hood has  furnished  us  with  some  fragments  of  the 
songs  sung  on  such  occasions,  probably  the  same 
which  our  British  ancestors  trolled  forth  around 
their  bonfires  two  centuries  ago  :  — 

"  The  fifth  of  November, 
As  you  well  remember, 

Was  gunpowder  treason  and  plot; 
And  where  is  the  reason 
That  gunpowder  treason 

Should  ever  be  forgot  ?  ' ' 

"  When  James  the  First  the  sceptre  swayed, 
This  hellish  powder  plot  was  laid ; 
They  placed  the  powder  down  below, 
All  for  Old  England's  overthrow. 
Lucky  the  man,  and  happy  the  day, 
That  caught  Guy  Fawkes  in  the  middle  of  his  play !  " 

"  Hark !  our  bell  goes  jink,  jink,  jink ; 
Pray,  madam,  pray,  sir,  give  us  something  to  drink ; 
Pray,  madam,  pray,  sir,  if  you  '11  something  giVo, 
We  '11  burn  the  dog,  and  not  let  him  live. 
We  '11  burn  the  dog  without  his  head, 
And  then  you  '11  say  the  dog  is  dead." 

"  Look  here !  from  Home 
The  Pope  has  come, 

That  fiery  serpent  dire ; 
Here's  the  Pope  that  we  have  got, 
The  old  promoter  of  the  plot ; 
We  '11  stick  a  pitchfork  in  his  back, 
And  throw  him  in  the  fire  !  " 

There  is  a  slight  savor  of  a  Smithfield  roasting 
about  these  lines,  such  as  regaled  the  senses  of 
the  Virgin  Queen  or  Bloody  Mary,  which  entirely 
reconciles  us  to  their  disuse  at  the  present  time. 


394  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

It  should  be  the  fervent  prayer  of  all  good  men 
that  the  evil  spirit  of  religious  hatred  and  intoler- 
ance, which  on  the  one  hand  prompted  the  gun- 
powder plot,  and  which  on  the  other  has  ever  since 
made  it  the  occasion  of  reproach  and  persecution 
of  an  entire  sect  of  professing  Christians,  may  be 
no  longer  perpetuated.  In  the  matter  of  exclu- 
siveness  and  intolerance,  none  of  the  older  sects 
can  safely  reproach  each  other  ;  and  it  becomes  all 
to  hope  and  labor  for  the  coming  of  that  day  when 
the  hymns  of  Cowper  and  the  Confessions  of  Au- 
gustine, the  humane  philosophy  of  Channing  and 
the  devout  meditations  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  the 
simple  essays  of  Woolman  and  the  glowing  periods 
of  Bossuet,  shall  be  regarded  as  the  offspring  of 
one  spirit  and  one  faith,  —  lights  of  a  common 
altar,  and  precious  stones  in  the  temple  of  the  one 
universal  Church. 


THE  BOY  CAPTIVES. 

AN  INCIDENT   OF  THE  INDIAN  WAR  OF  1695. 

THE  township  of  Haverhill,  even  as  late  as  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  was  a  frontier 
settlement,  occupying  an  advanced  position  in  the 
great  wilderness,  which,  unbroken  by  the  clearing 
of  a  white  man,  extended  from  the  Merrimac 
River  to  the  French  villages  on  the  St.  Francois. 
A  tract  of  twelve  miles  on  the  river  and  three  or 
four  northwardly  was  occupied  by  scattered  settlers, 
while  in  the  centre  of  the  town  a  compact  village 
had  grown  up.  In  the  immediate  vicinity  there 
were  but  few  Indians,  and  these  generally  peaceful 
and  inoffensive.  On  the  breaking  out  of  the  Nar- 
ragansett  war,  the  inhabitants  had  erected  fortifi- 
cations and  taken  other  measures  for  defence  ;  but, 
with  the  possible  exception  of  one  man  who  was 
found  slain  in  the  woods  in  1676,  none  of  the  in- 
habitants were  molested ;  and  it  was  not  until 
about  the  year  1689  that  the  safety  of  the  settle- 
ment was  seriously  threatened.  Three  persons 
were  killed  in  that  year.  In  1690  six  garrisons 
were  established  in  different  parts  of  the  town, 
with  a  small  company  of  soldiers  attached  to  each. 
Two  of  these  houses  are  still  standing.  They  were 
built  of  brick,  two  stories  high,  with  a  single  out- 
side door,  so  small  and  narrow  that  but  one  person 


396  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

could  enter  at  a  time  ;  the  windows  few,  and  only 
about  two  and  a  half  feet  long  by  eighteen  inches 
wide,  with  thick  diamond  glass  secured  with  lead, 
and  crossed  inside  with  bars  of  iron.  The  base- 
ment had  but  two  rooms,  and  the  chamber  was 
entered  by  a  ladder  instead  of  stairs ;  so  that  the 
inmates,  if  driven  thither,  could  cut  off  communi- 
cation with  the  rooms  below.  Many  private  houses 
were  strengthened  and  fortified.  We  remember 
one  familiar  to  our  boyhood,  —  a  venerable  old 
building  of  wood,  with  brick  between  the  weather- 
boards and  ceiling,  with  a  massive  balustrade  over 
the  door,  constructed  of  oak  timber  and  plank, 
with  holes  through  the  latter  for  firing  upon  assail- 
ants. The  door  opened  upon  a  stone-paved  hall, 
or  entry,  leading  into  the  huge  single  room  of  the 
basement,  which  was  lighted  by  two  small  win- 
dows, the  ceiling  black  with  the  smoke  of  a  century 
and  a  half ;  a  huge  fireplace,  calculated  for  eight- 
feet  wood,  occupying  one  entire  side ;  while,  over- 
head, suspended  from  the  timbers,  or  on  shelves 
fastened  to  them,  were  household  stores,  farming 
utensils,  fishing-rods,  guns,  bunches  of  herbs  gath- 
ered perhaps  a  century  ago,  strings  of  dried  apples 
and  pumpkins,  links  of  mottled  sausages,  spareribs, 
and  flitches  of  bacon  ;  the  firelight  of  an  evening 
dimly  revealing  the  checked  woollen  coverlet  of  the 
bed  in  one  far-off  corner,  while  in  another 

"  the  pewter  plates  on  the  dresser 

Caught  and  reflected  the  flame  as  shields  of  armies  the  sun- 
shine." 

Tradition  has  preserved  many  incidents  of  life 
in  the  garrisons.     In  times  of  unusual  peril  the 


THE  BOY  CAPTIVES  397 

settlers  generally  resorted  at  night  to  the  fortified 
houses,  taking  thither  their  flocks  and  herds  and 
such  household  valuables  as  were  most  likely  to 
strike  the  fancy  or  minister  to  the  comfort  or  van- 
ity of  the  heathen  marauders.  False  alarms  were 
frequent.  The  smoke  of  a  distant  fire,  the  bark  of 
a  dog  in  the  deep  woods,  a  stump  or  bush  taking 
in  the  uncertain  light  of  stars  and  moon  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  man,  were  sufficient  to  spread  alarm 
through  the  entire  settlement,  and  to  cause  the 
armed  men  of  the  garrison  to  pass  whole  nights  in 
sleepless  watching.  It  is  said  that  at  Haselton's 
garrison-house  the  sentinel  on  duty  saw,  as  he 
thought,  an  Indian  inside  of  the  paling  which  sur- 
rounded the  building,  and  apparently  seeking  to 
gain  an  entrance.  He  promptly  raised  his  musket 
and  fired  at  the  intruder,  alarming  thereby  the 
entire  garrison.  The  women  and  children  left  their 
beds,  and  the  men  seized  their  guns  and  commenced 
firing  on  the  suspicious  object ;  but  it  seemed  to 
bear  a  charmed  life,  and  remained  unharmed.  As 
the  morning  dawned,  however,  the  mystery  was 
solved  by  the  discovery  of  a  black  quilted  petticoat 
hanging  on  the  clothes'-line,  completely  riddled 
with  balls. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  under  circumstances  of 
perpetual  alarm  and  frequent  peril,  the  duty  of 
cultivating  their  fields,  and  gathering  their  har- 
vests, and  working  at  their  mechanical  avocations 
was  dangerous  and  difficult  to  the  settlers.  One 
instance  will  serve  as  an  illustration.  At  the  gar- 
rison-house of  Thomas  Dustin,  the  husband  of  the 
far-famed  Mary  Dustin,  (who,  while  a  captive  of 


398  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

the  Indians,  and  maddened  by  the  murder  of  her 
infant  child,  killed  and  scalped,  with  the  assistance 
of  a  young  boy,  the  entire  band  of  her  captors,  ten 
in  number,)  the  business  of  brick-making  was  car- 
ried on.  The  pits  where  the  clay  was  found  were 
only  a  few  rods  from  the  house ;  yet  no  man  ven- 
tured to  bring  the  clay  to  the  yard  within  the  en- 
closure without  the  attendance  of  a  file  of  soldiers. 
An  anecdote  relating  to  this  garrison  has  been 
handed  down  to  the  present  time.  Among  its  in- 
mates were  two  young  cousins,  Joseph  and  Mary 
Whittaker ;  the  latter  a  merry,  handsome  girl,  re- 
lieving the  tedium  of  garrison  duty  with  her  light- 
hearted  mirthfulness,  and 

"  Malting  a  sunshine  in  that  shady  place." 

Joseph,  in  the  intervals  of  his  labors  in  the  double 
capacity  of  brick-maker  and  man-at-arms,  was  as- 
siduous in  his  attentions  to  his  fair  cousin,  who 
was  not  inclined  to  encourage  him.  Growing  des- 
perate, he  threatened  one  evening  to  throw  him- 
self into  the  garrison  well.  His  threat  only  called 
forth  the  laughter  of  his  mistress ;  and,  bidding 
her  farewell,  he  proceeded  to  put  it  in  execution. 
On  reaching  the  well  he  stumbled  over  a  log ; 
whereupon,  animated  by  a  happy  idea,  he  dropped 
the  wood  into  the  water  instead  of  himself,  and, 
hiding  behind  the  curb,  awaited  the  result.  Mary, 
who  had  been  listening  at  the  door,  and  who  had 
not  believed  her  lover  capable  of  so  rash  an  act, 
heard  the  sudden  plunge  of  the  wooden  Joseph. 
She  ran  to  the  well,  and,  leaning  over  the  curb 
and  peering  down  the  dark  opening,  cried  out,  in 


THE  BOY  CAPTIVES  399 

tones  of  anguish  and  remorse,  "  O  Joseph,  if  you  're 
in  the  land  of  the  living,  I  '11  have  you ! "  "1 11 
take  ye  at  your  word,"  answered  Joseph,  springing 
up  from  his  hiding-place,  and  avenging  himself 
for  her  coyness  and  coldness  by  a  hearty  embrace. 

Our  own  paternal  ancestor,  owing  to  religious 
scruples  in  the  matter  of  taking  arms  even  for 
defence  of  life  and  property,  refused  to  leave  his 
undefended  house  and  enter  the  garrison.  The 
Indians  frequently  came  to  his  house;  and  the 
family  more  than  once  in  the  night  heard  them 
whispering  under  the  windows,  and  saw  them  put 
their  copper  faces  to  the  glass  to  take  a  view  of  the 
apartments.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  they  never 
offered  any  injury  or  insult  to  the  inmates. 

In  1695  the  township  was  many  times  molested 
by  Indians,  and  several  persons  were  killed  and 
wounded.  Early  in  the  fall  a  small  party  made 
their  appearance  in  the  northerly  part  of  the  town, 
where,  finding  two  boys  at  work  in  an  open  field, 
they  managed  to  surprise  and  capture  them,  and, 
without  committing  further  violence,  retreated 
through  the  woods  to  their  homes  on  the  shore  of 
Lake  Winnipesaukee.  Isaac  Bradley,  aged  fifteen, 
was  a  small  but  active  and  vigorous  boy ;  his  com- 
panion in  captivity,  Joseph  Whittaker,  was  only 
eleven,  yet  quite  as  large  in  size,  and  heavier  in  his 
movements.  After  a  hard  and  painful  journey 
they  arrived  at  the  lake,  and  were  placed  in  an  In- 
dian family,  consisting  of  a  man  and  squaw  and 
two  or  three  children.  Here  they  soon  acquired  a 
sufficient  knowledge  of  the  Indian  tongue  to  en- 
able them  to  learn  from  the  conversation  carried 


400  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

on  in  their  presence  that  it  was  designed  to  take 
them  to  Canada  in  the  spring.  This  discovery  was 
a  painful  one.  Canada,  the  land  of  Papist  priests 
and  bloody  Indians,  was  the  especial  terror  of  the 
New  England  settlers,  and  the  anathema  marana- 
tha  of  Puritan  pulpits.  Thither  the  Indians  usu- 
ally hurried  their  captives,  where  they  compelled 
them  to  work  in  their  villages  or  sold  them  to  the 
French  planters.  Escape  from  thence  through  a 
deep  wilderness,  and  across  lakes  and  mountains 
and  almost  impassable  rivers,  without  food  or 
guide,  was  regarded  as  an  impossibility.  The  poor 
boys,  terrified  by  the  prospect  of  being  carried  still 
farther  from  their  home  and  friends,  began  to 
dream  of  escaping  from  their  masters  before  they 
started  for  Canada.  It  was  now  winter ;  it  would 
have  been  little  short  of  madness  to  have  chosen 
for  flight  that  season  of  bitter  cold  and  deep 
snows.  Owing  to  exposure  and  want  of  proper 
food  and  clothing,  Isaac,  the  eldest  of  the  boys, 
was  seized  with  a  violent  fever,  from  which  he 
slowly  recovered  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  His 
Indian  mistress  was  as  kind  to  him  as  her  circum- 
stances permitted,  —  procuring  medicinal  herbs 
and  roots  for  her  patient,  and  tenderly  watching 
over  him  in  the  long  winter  nights.  Spring  came 
at  length ;  the  snows  melted ;  and  the  ice  was 
broken  up  on  the  lake.  The  Indians  began  to 
make  preparations  for  journeying  to  Canada ;  and 
Isaac,  who  had  during  his  sickness  devised  a  plan 
of  escape,  saw  that  the  time  of  putting  it  in  execu- 
tion had  come.  On  the  evening  before  he  was  to 
make  the  attempt  he  for  the  first  time  informed  his 


The  Boy  Captives 


THE  BOY  CAPTIVES  401 

younger  companion  of  his  design,  and  told  him,  if 
he  intended  to  accompany  him,  he  must  be  awake 
at  the  time  appointed.  The  boys  lay  down  as 
usual  in  the  wigwam,  in  the  midst  of  the  family. 
Joseph  soon  fell  asleep ;  but  Isaac,  fully  sensible 
of  the  danger  and  difficulty  of  the  enterprise  be- 
fore him,  lay  awake,  watchful  for  his  opportunity. 
About  midnight  he  rose,  cautiously  stepping  over 
the  sleeping  forms  of  the  family,  and  securing,  as 
he  went,  his  Indian  master's  flint,  steel,  and  tinder, 
and  a  small  quantity  of  dry  moose-meat  and  corn- 
bread.  He  then  carefully  awakened  his  compan- 
ion, who,  starting  up,  forgetful  of  the  cause  of  his 
disturbance,  asked  aloud,  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 
The  savages  began  to  stir ;  and  Isaac,  trembling 
with  fear  of  detection,  lay  down  again  and  pre- 
tended to  be  asleep.  After  waiting  a  while  he 
again  rose,  satisfied,  from  the  heavy  breathing  of 
the  Indians,  that  they  were  all  sleeping ;  and  fear- 
ing to  awaken  Joseph  a  second  time,  lest  he  should 
again  hazard  all  by  his  thoughtlessness,  he  crept 
softly  out  of  the  wigwam.  He  had  proceeded  but 
a  few  rods  when  he  heard  footsteps  behind  him  ; 
and,  supposing  himself  pursued,  he  hurried  into 
the  woods,  casting  a  glance  backward.  What  was 
his  joy  to  see  his  young  companion  running  after 
him !  They  hastened  on  in  a  southerly  direction 
as  nearly  as  they  could  determine,  hoping  to  reach 
their  distant  home.  When  daylight  appeared  they 
found  a  large  hollow  log,  into  which  they  crept  for 
concealment,  wisely  judging  that  they  would  be 
hotly  pursued  by  their  Indian  captors. 

Their  sagacity  was  by  no  means  at  fault.     The 


402  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

Indians,  missing  their  prisoners  in  the  morning, 
started  off  in  pursuit  with  their  dogs.  As  the 
young  boys  lay  in  the  log  they  could  hear  the 
whistle  of  the  Indians  and  the  barking  of  dogs 
upon  their  track.  It  was  a  trying  moment ;  and 
even  the  stout  heart  of  the  elder  boy  sank  within 
him  as  the  dogs  came  up  to  the  log  and  set  up  a 
loud  bark  of  discovery.  But  his  presence  of  mind 
saved  him.  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  the  dogs, 
who,  recognizing  his  familiar  voice,  wagged  their 
tails  with  delight  and  ceased  barking.  He  then 
threw  to  them  the  morsel  of  moose-meat  he  had 
taken  from  the  wigwam.  While  the  dogs  were 
thus  diverted  the  Indians  made  their  appearance. 
The  boys  heard  the  light,  stealthy  sound  of  their 
moccasins  on  the  leaves.  They  passed  close  to 
the  log ;  and  the  dogs,  having  devoured  their 
moose-meat,  trotted  after  their  masters.  Through 
a  crevice  in  the  log  the  boys  looked  after  them  and 
saw  them  disappear  in  the  thick  woods.  They 
remained  in  their  covert  until  night,  when  they 
started  again  on  their  long  journey,  taking  a  new 
route  to  avoid  the  Indians.  At  daybreak  they 
again  concealed  themselves,  but  travelled  the  next 
night  and  day  without  resting.  By  this  time  they 
had  consumed  all  the  bread  which  they  had  taken, 
and  were  fainting  from  hunger  and  weariness. 
Just  at  the  close  of  the  third  day  they  were  provi- 
dentially enabled  to  kill  a  pigeon  and  a  small  tor- 
toise, a  part  of  which  they  ate  raw,  not  daring  to 
make  a  fire,  which  might  attract  the  watchful  eyes 
of  savages.  On  the  sixth  day  they  struck  upon  an 
old  Indian  path,  and,  following  it  until  night,  came 


THE  BOY  CAPTIVES  403 

suddenly  upon  a  camp  of  the  enemy.  Deep  in 
the  heart  of  the  forest,  under  the  shelter  of  a  ridge 
of  land  heavily  timbered,  a  great  fire  of  logs  and 
brushwood  was  burning;  and  around  it  the  Ind- 
ians sat,  eating  their  moose-meat  and  smoking  their 
pipes. 

The  poor  fugitives,  starving,  weary,  and  chilled 
by  the  cold  spring  blasts,  gazed  down  upon  the 
ample  fire,  and  the  savory  meats  which  the  squaws 
were  cooking  by  it,  but  felt  no  temptation  to  pur- 
chase warmth  and  food  by  surrendering  themselves 
to  captivity.  Death  in  the  forest  seemed  prefer- 
able. They  turned  and  fled  back  upon  their  track, 
expecting  every  moment  to  hear  the  yells  of  pur- 
suers. The  morning  found  them  seated  on  the 
bank  of  a  small  stream,  their  feet  torn  and  bleed- 
ing, and  their  bodies  emaciated.  The  elder,  as  a 
last  effort,  made  search  for  roots,  and  fortunately 
discovered  a  few  ground-nuts,  (jglicine,  apios) 
which  served  to  refresh  in  some  degree  himself  and 
his  still  weaker  companion.  As  they  stood  together 
by  the  stream,  hesitating  and  almost  despairing,  it 
occurred  to  Isaac  that  the  rivulet  might  lead  to  a 
larger  stream  of  water,  and  that  to  the  sea  and  the 
white  settlements  near  it ;  and  he  resolved  to  fol- 
low it.  They  again  began  their  painful  march ;  the 
day  passed,  and  the  night  once  more  overtook 
them.  When  the  eighth  morning  dawned,  the 
younger  of  the  boys  found  himself  unable  to  rise 
from  his  bed  of  leaves.  Isaac  endeavored  to  en- 
courage him,  dug  roots,  and  procured  water  for 
him ;  but  the  poor  lad  was  utterly  exhausted.  He 
had  no  longer  heart  or  hope.  The  elder  boy  laid 


404  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

him  on  leaves  and  dry  grass  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  with  a  heavy  heart  bade  him  farewell.  Alone 
he  slowly  and  painfully  proceeded  down  the  stream, 
now  greatly  increased  in  size  by  tributary  rivulets. 
On  the  top  of  a  hill  he  climbed  with  difficulty  into 
a  tree,  and  saw  in  the  distance  what  seemed  to  be 
a  clearing  and  a  newly  raised  frame  building. 
Hopeful  and  rejoicing,  he  turned  back  to  his  young 
companion,  told  him  what  he  had  seen,  and,  after 
chafing  his  limbs  awhile,  got  him  upon  his  feet. 
Sometimes  supporting  him,  and  at  others  carrying 
him  on  his  back,  the  heroic  boy  staggered  towards 
the  clearing.  On  reaching  it  he  found  it  deserted, 
and  was  obliged  to  continue  his  journey.  Towards 
night  signs  of  civilization  began  to  appear,  —  the 
heavy,  continuous  roar  of  water  was  heard ;  and, 
presently  emerging  from  the  forest,  he  saw  a  great 
river  dashing  in  white  foam  down  precipitous 
rocks,  and  on  its  bank  the  gray  walls  of  a  htige 
stone  building,  with  flankers,  palisades,  and  moat, 
over  which  the  British  flag  was  flying.  This  was 
the  famous  Saco  Fort,  built  by  Governor  Phips 
two  years  before,  just  below  the  falls  of  the  Saco 
River.  The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  gave  the  poor 
fellows  a  kindly  welcome.  Joseph,  who  was  scarcely 
alive,  lay  for  a  long  time  sick  in  the  fort;  but 
Isaac  soon  regained  his  strength,  and  set  out  for 
his  home  in  Haverhill,  which  he  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  arrive  at  in  safety. 

Amidst  the  stirring  excitements  of  the  present 
day,  when  every  thrill  of  the  electric  wire  conveys 
a  new  subject  for  thought  or  action  to  a  generation 
as  eager  as  the  ancient  Athenians  for  some  new 


THE  BOY  CAPTIVES  405 

thing,  simple  legends  of  the  past  like  that  which 
we  have  transcribed  have  undoubtedly  lost  in  a 
great  degree  their  interest.  The  lore  of  the  fire- 
side is  becoming  obsolete,  and  with  the  octogena- 
rian few  who  still  linger  among  us  will  perish  the 
unwritten  history  of  border  life  in  New  England. 


THE  BLACK  MEN  IN  THE  REVOLUTION 
AND  WAR  OF  1812. 

THE  return  of  the  festival  of  our  national  in- 
dependence has  called  our  attention  to  a  matter 
which  has  been  very  carefully  kept  out  of  sight  by 
orators  and  toast-drinkers.  We  allude  to  the  par- 
ticipation of  colored  men  in  the  great  struggle  for 
American  freedom.  It  is  not  in  accordance  with 
our  taste  or  our  principles  to  eulogize  the  shedders 
of  blood  even  in  a  cause  of  acknowledged  justice  ; 
but  when  we  see  a  whole  nation  doing  honor  to  the 
memories  of  one  class  of  its  defenders  to  the  total 
neglect  of  another  class,  who  had  the  misfortune 
to  be  of  darker  complexion,  we  cannot  forego  the 
satisfaction  of  inviting  notice  to  certain  historical 
facts  which  for  the  last  half  century  have  been 
quietly  elbowed  aside,  as  no  more  deserving  of  a 
place  in  patriotic  recollection  than  the  descendants 
of  the  men  to  whom  the  facts  in  question  relate 
have  to  a  place  in  a  Fourth  of  July  procession. 

Of  the  services  and  sufferings  of  the  colored 
soldiers  of  the  Revolution  no  attempt  has,  to  our 
knowledge,  been  made  to  preserve  a  record.  They 
have  had  no  historian.  With  here  and  there  an 
exception,  they  have  all  passed  away ;  and  only 
some  faint  tradition  of  their  campaigns  under 
Washington  and  Greene  and  Lafayette,  and  of 
their  cruisings  under  Decatur  and  Barry,  lingers 


BLACK  MEN  IN  THE  REVOLUTION     407 

among  their  descendants.  Yet  enough  is  known 
to  show  that  the  free  colored  men  of  the  United 
States  bore  their  full  proportion  of  the  sacrifices 
and  trials  of  the  Revolutionary  War. 

The  late  Governor  Eustis,  of  Massachusetts,  — 
the  pride  and  boast  of  the  democracy  of  the  East, 
himself  an  active  participant  in  the  war,  and  there- 
fore a  most  competent  witness,  —  Governor  Mor- 
rill,  of  New  Hampshire,  Judge  Hemphill,  of  Penn- 
sylvania, and  other  members  of  Congress,  in  the 
debate  on  the  question  of  admitting  Missouri  as  a 
slave  State  into  the  Union,  bore  emphatic  testi- 
mony to  the  efficiency  and  heroism  of  the  black 
troops.  Hon.  Calvin  Goddard,  of  Connecticut, 
states  that  in  the  little  circle  of  his  residence  he 
was  instrumental  in  securing,  under  the  act  of 
1818,  the  pensions  of  nineteen  colored  soldiers. 
"I  cannot,"  he  says,  "  refrain  from  mentioning  one 
aged  black  man,  Primus  Babcock,  who  proudly 
presented  to  me  an  honorable  discharge  from  ser- 
vice during  the  war,  dated  at  the  close  of  it, 
wholly  in  the  handwriting  of  George  Washington  ; 
nor  can  I  forget  the  expression  of  his  feelings  when 
informed,  after  his  discharge  had  been  sent  to  the 
War  Department,  that  it  could  not  be  returned. 
At  his  request  it  was  written  for,  as  he  seemed 
inclined  to  spurn  the  pension  and  reclaim  the  dis- 
charge." There  is  a  touching  anecdote  related  of 
Baron  Steuben  on  the  occasion  of  the  disbandment 
of  the  American  army.  A  black  soldier,  with  his 
wounds  unhealed,  utterly  destitute,  stood  on  the 
wharf  just  as  a  vessel  bound  for  his  distant  home 
was  getting  under  way.  The  poor  fellow  gazed  at 


408  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

the  vessel  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  despair.  The  warm-hearted  foreigner  wit- 
nessed his  emotion,  and,  inquiring  into  the  cause 
of  it,  took  his  last  dollar  from  his  purse  and  gave 
it  to  him,  with  tears  of  sympathy  trickling  down 
his  cheeks.  Overwhelmed  with  gratitude,  the  poor 
wounded  soldier  hailed  the  sloop  and  was  received 
on  board.  As  it  moved  out  from  the  wharf,  he 
cried  back  to  his  noble  friend  on  shore,  "  God  Al- 
mighty bless  you,  Master  Baron !  " 

"  In  Rhode  Island,"  says  Governor  Eustis  in  his 
able  speech  against  slavery  in  Missouri,  12th  of 
twelfth  month,  1820,  "  the  blacks  formed  an  entire 
regiment,  and  they  discharged  their  duty  with  zeal 
and  fidelity.  The  gallant  defence  of  Red  Bank, 
in  which  the  black  regiment  bore  a  part,  is  among 
the  proofs  of  their  valor."  In  this  contest  it  will 
be  recollected  that  four  hundred  men  met  and  re- 
pulsed, after  a  terrible  and  sanguinary  struggle, 
fifteen  hundred  Hessian  troops,  headed  by  Count 
Donop.  The  glory  of  the  defence  of  Red  Bank, 
which  has  been  pronounced  one  of  the  most  heroic 
actions  of  the  war,  belongs  in  reality  to  black  men ; 
yet  who  now  hears  them  spoken  of  in  connection 
with  it  ?  Among  the  traits  which  distinguished 
the  black  regiment  was  devotion  to  their  officers. 
In  the  attack  made  upon  the  American  lines  near 
Croton  River  on  the  13th  of  the  fifth  month,  1781, 
Colonel  Greene,  the  commander  of  the  regiment, 
was  cut  down  and  mortally  wounded ;  but  the  sa- 
bres of  the  enemy  only  reached  him  through  the 
bodies  of  his  faithful  guard  of  blacks,  who  hovered 
over  him  to  protect  him,  every  one  of  whom  was 


BLACK  MEN  IN   THE  REVOLUTION     409 

killed.  The  late  Dr.  Harris,  of  Dunbarton,  New 
Hampshire,  a  Revolutionary  veteran,  stated,  in  a 
speech  at  Francistown,  New  Hampshire,  some 
years  ago,  that  on  one  occasion  the  regiment  to 
which  he  was  attached  was  commanded  to  defend 
an  important  position,  which  the  enemy  thrice  as- 
sailed, and  from  which  they  were  as  often  repulsed. 
"  There  was,"  said  the  venerable  speaker,  "  a  regi- 
ment of  blacks  in  the  same  situation,  —  a  regiment 
of  negroes  righting  for  our  liberty  and  indepen- 
dence, not  a  white  man  among  them  but  the  offi- 
cers, —  in  the  same  dangerous  and  responsible  po- 
sition. Had  they  been  unfaithful  or  given  way 
before  the  enemy,  all  would  have  been  lost.  Three 
times  in  succession  were  they  attacked  with  most 
desperate  fury  by  well -disciplined  and  veteran 
troops  ;  and  three  times  did  they  successfully  repel 
the  assault,  and  thus  preserve  an  army.  They 
fought  thus  through  the  war.  They  were  brave 
and  hardy  troops." 

In  the  debate  in  the  New  York  Convention  of 
1821  for  amending  the  Constitution  of  the  State, 
on  the  question  of  extending  the  right  of  suffrage 
to  the  blacks,  Dr.  Clarke,  the  delegate  from  Dela- 
ware County,  and  other  members,  made  honorable 
mention  of  the  services  of  the  colored  troops  in  the 
Revolutionary  army. 

The  late  James  Forten,  of  Philadelphia,  well 
known  as  a  colored  man  of  wealth,  intelligence, 
and  philanthropy,  enlisted  in  the  American  navy 
under  Captain  Decatur,  of  the  Royal  Louis,  was 
taken  prisoner  during  his  second  cruise,  and,  with 
nineteen  other  colored  men,  confined  on  board  the 


410  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

horrible  Jersey  prison-ship.  All  the  vessels  in  the 
American  service  at  that  period  were  partly  manned 
by  blacks.  The  old  citizens  of  Philadelphia  to 
this  day  remember  the  fact  that,  when  the  troops 
of  the  North  marched  through  the  city,  one  or 
more  colored  companies  were  attached  to  nearly 
all  the  regiments. 

Governor  Eustis,  in  the  speech  before  quoted, 
states  that  the  free  colored  soldiers  entered  the 
ranks  with  the  whites.  The  time  of  those  who 
were  slaves  was  purchased  of  their  masters,  and 
they  were  induced  to  enter  the  service  in  conse- 
quence of  a  law  of  Congress  by  which,  on  condi- 
tion of  their  serving  in  the  ranks  during  the  war, 
they  were  made  freemen.  This  hope  of  liberty  in- 
spired them  with  courage  to  oppose  their  breasts  to 
the  Hessian  bayonet  at  Red  Bank,  and  enabled 
them  to  endure  with  fortitude  the  cold  and  famine 
of  Valley  Forge.  The  anecdote  of  the  slave  of 
General  Sullivan,  of  New  Hampshire,  is  well 
known.  When  his  master  told  him  that  they  were 
on  the  point  of  starting  for  the  army,  to  fight  for 
liberty,  he  shrewdly  suggested  that  it  would  be  a 
great  satisfaction  to  know  that  he  was  indeed  going 
to  fight  for  Ms  liberty.  Struck  with  the  reason- 
ableness and  justice  of  this  suggestion,  General 
Sullivan  at  once  gave  him  his  freedom. 

The  late  Tristam  Burgess,  of  Rhode  Island,  in 
a  speech  in  Congress,  first  month,  1828,  said : 
"At  the  commencement  of  the  Revolutionary  War, 
Rhode  Island  had  a  number  of  slaves.  A  regiment 
of  them  were  enlisted  into  the  Continental  service, 
and  no  braver  men  met  the  enemy  in  battle ;  but 


BLACK  MEN  IN  THE  REVOLUTION     411 

not  one  of  them  was  permitted  to  be  a  soldier  until 
he  had  first  been  made  a  freeman." 

The  celebrated  Charles  Pinckney,  of  South  Car- 
olina, in  his  speech  on  the  Missouri  question,  and 
in  defence  of  the  slave  representation  of  the  South, 
made  the  following  admissions :  — 

"They  (the  colored  people)  were  in  numerous 
instances  the  pioneers,  and  in  all  the  laborers,  of 
our  armies.  To  their  hands  were  owing  the  great- 
est part  of  the  fortifications  raised  for  the  protec- 
tion of  the  country.  Fort  Moultrie  gave,  at  an 
early  period  of  the  inexperienced  and  untried  valor 
of  our  citizens,  immortality  to  the  American  arms ; 
and  in  the  Northern  States  numerous  bodies  of 
them  were  enrolled,  and  fought  side  by  side  with 
the  whites  at  the  battles  of  the  Revolution." 

Let  us  now  look  forward  thirty  or  forty  years, 
to  the  last  war  with  Great  Britain,  and  see  whether 
the  whites  enjoyed  a  monopoly  of  patriotism  at 
that  time. 

Martindale,  of  New  York,  in  Congress,  22d  of 
first  month,  1828,  said :  "  Slaves,  or  negroes  who 
had  been  slaves,  were  enlisted  as  soldiers  in  the 
war  of  the  Revolution ;  and  I  myself  saw  a  bat- 
talion of  them,  as  fine,  martial-looking  men  as  I 
ever  saw,  attached  to  the  Northern  army  in  the  last 
war,  on  its  march  from  Plattsburg  to  Sackett's 
Harbor." 

Hon.  Charles  Miner,  of  Pennsylvania,  in  Con- 
gress, second  month,  7th,  1828,  said :  "  The  African 
race  make  excellent  soldiers.  Large  numbers  of 
them  were  with  Perry,  and  helped  to  gain  the  bril- 
liant victory  of  Lake  Erie.  A  whole  battalion  of 


412  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

them  were  distinguished  for  their  orderly  appear- 
ance." 

Dr.  Clarke,  in  the  convention  which  revised  the 
Constitution  of  New  York  in  1821,  speaking  of  the 
colored  inhabitants  of  the  State,  said :  — 

"  In  your  late  war  they  contributed  largely 
towards  some  of  your  most  splendid  victories.  On 
Lakes  Erie  and  Champlain,  where  your  fleets  tri- 
umphed over  a  foe  superior  in  numbers  and  en- 
gines of  death,  they  were  manned  in  a  large  pro- 
portion with  men  of  color.  And  in  this  very 
house,  in  the  fall  of  1814,  a  bill  passed,  receiving 
the  approbation  of  all  the  branches  of  your  gov- 
ernment, authorizing  the  governor  to  accept  the 
services  of  a  corps  of  two  thousand  free  people  of 
color.  Sir,  these  were  times  which  tried  men's 
souls.  In  these  times  it  was  no  sporting  matter 
to  bear  arms.  These  were  times  when  a  man  who 
shouldered  his  musket  did  not  know  but  he  bared 
his  bosom  to  receive  a  death-wound  from  the  en- 
emy ere  he  laid  it  aside  ;  and  in  these  times  these 
people  were  found  as  ready  and  as  wiling  to  vol- 
unteer in  your  service  as  any  other.  They  were 
not  compelled  to  go  ;  they  were  not  drafted.  No ; 
your  pride  had  placed  them  beyond  your  compul- 
sory power.  But  there  was  no  necessity  for  its 
exercise ;  they  were  volunteers,  —  yes,  sir,  volun- 
teers to  defend  that  very  country  from  the  inroads 
and  ravages  of  a  ruthless  and  vindictive  foe  which 
had  treated  them  with  insult,  degradation,  and 
slavery." 

On  the  capture  of  Washington  by  the  British 
forces,  it  was  judged  expedient  to  fortify,  without 


BLACK  MEN  IN  THE  REVOLUTION     413 

delay,  the  principal  towns  and  cities  exposed  to 
similar  attacks.  The  Vigilance  Committee  of  Phil- 
adelphia waited  upon  three  of  the  principal  col- 
ored citizens,  namely,  James  Forten,  Bishop  Allen, 
and  Absalom  Jones,  soliciting  the  aid  of  the  peo- 
ple of  color  in  erecting  suitable  defences  for  the 
city.  Accordingly,  twenty-five  hundred  colored 
men  assembled  in  the  State-House  yard,  and  from 
thence  marched  to  Gray's  Ferry,  where  they  labored 
for  two  days  almost  without  intermission.  Their 
labors  were  so  faithful  and  efficient  that  a  vote  of 
thanks  was  tendered  them  by  the  committee.  A 
battalion  of  colored  troops  was  at  the  same  time 
organized  in  the  city  under  an  officer  of  the  United 
States  army  ;  and  they  were  on  the  point  of  march- 
ing to  the  frontier  when  peace  was  proclaimed. 

General  Jackson's  proclamations  to  the  free  col- 
ored inhabitants  of  Louisiana  are  well  known.  In 
his  first,  inviting  them  to  take  up  arms,  he  said :  — 

"  As  sons  of  freedom,  you  are  now  called  on  to 
defend  our  most  inestimable  blessings.  As  Ameri- 
cans, your  country  looks  with  confidence  to  her 
adopted  children  for  a  valorous  support.  As  fa- 
thers, husbands,  and  brothers,  you  are  summoned 
to  rally  round  the  standard  of  the  eagle,  to  defend 
all  which  is  dear  in  existence." 

The  second  proclamation  is  one  of  the  highest 
compliments  ever  paid  by  a  military  chief  to  his 
soldiers :  — 

"TO  THE  FREE  PEOPLE  OF  COLOR. 
"  Soldiers !  when  on  the  banks  of  the  Mobile  1 
called  you  to  take  up  arms,  inviting  you  to  partake 


414  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

the  perils  and  glory  of  your  white  fellow-citizens,  I 
expected  much  from  you ;  for  I  was  not  ignorant 
that  you  possessed  qualities  most  formidable  to  an 
invading  enemy.  I  knew  with  what  fortitude  you 
could  endure  hunger,  and  thirst,  and  all  the  fa- 
tigues of  a  campaign.  I  knew  well  how  you  loved 
your  native  country,  and  that  you,  as  well  as  our- 
selves, had  to  defend  what  man  holds  most  dear, 
—  his  parents,  wife,  children,  and  property.  You 
have  done  more  than  I  expected.  In  addition  to 
the  previous  qualities  I  before  knew  you  to  possess, 
I  found  among  you  a  noble  enthusiasm,  which  leads 
to  the  performance  of  great  things. 

"  Soldiers  !  the  President  of  the  United  States 
shall  hear  how  praiseworthy  was  your  conduct  in 
the  hour  of  danger,  and  the  Representatives  of  the 
American  people  will  give  you  the  praise  your 
exploits  entitle  you  to.  Your  general  anticipates 
them  in  applauding  your  noble  ardor." 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  whatever  honor  belongs 
to  the  "  heroes  of  the  Revolution  "  and  the  volun- 
teers in  "  the  second  war  for  independence  "  is  to 
be  divided  between  the  white  and  the  colored  man. 
We  have  dwelt  upon  this  subject  at  length,  not  be- 
cause it  accords  with  our  principles  or  feelings,  for 
it  is  scarcely  necessary  for  us  to  say  that  we  are 
one  of  those  who  hold  that 

"  Peace  hath  her  victories 
No  less  renowned  than  war," 

and  certainly  far  more  desirable  and  useful ;  but 
because,  in  popular  estimation,  the  patriotism 
which  dares  and  does  on  the  battle-field  takes  a 


BLACK  MEN  IN  THE  REVOLUTION     415 

higher  place  than  the  quiet  exercise  of  the  duties 
of  peaceful  citizenship ;  and  we  are  willing  that 
colored  soldiers,  with  their  descendants,  should 
have  the  benefit,  if  possible,  of  a  public  sentiment 
which  has  so  extravagantly  lauded  their  white  com- 
panions in  arms.  If  pulpits  must  be  desecrated 
by  eulogies  of  the  patriotism  of  bloodshed,  we  see 
no  reason  why  black  defenders  of  their  country  in 
the  war  for  liberty  should  not  receive  honorable 
mention  as  well  as  white  invaders  of  a  neighboring 
republic  who  have  volunteered  in  a  war  for  plun- 
der and  slavery  extension.  For  the  latter  class  of 
"  heroes  "  we  have  very  little  respect.  The  patri- 
otism of  too  many  of  them  forcibly  reminds  us  of 
Dr.  Johnson's  definition  of  that  much-abused  term : 
"  Patriotism,  sir  !  'T  is  the  last  refuge  of  a  scoun- 
drel." 

"  What  right,  I  demand,"  said  an  American  ora- 
tor some  years  ago,  "  have  the  children  of  Africa 
to  a  homestead  in  the  white  man's  country  ?  "  The 
answer  will  in  part  be  found  in  the  facts  which 
we  have  presented.  Their  right,  like  that  of  their 
white  fellow-citizens,  dates  back  to  the  dread  ar- 
bitrament of  battle.  Their  bones  whiten  every 
stricken  field  of  the  Revolution  ;  their  feet  tracked 
with  blood  the  snows  of  Jersey ;  their  toil  built 
up  every  fortification  south  of  the  Potomac  ;  they 
shared  the  famine  and  nakedness  of  Valley  Forge 
and  the  pestilential  horrors  of  the  old  Jersey  prison- 
ship.  Have  they,  then,  no  claim  to  an  equal  par- 
ticipation in  the  blessings  which  have  grown  out 
of  the  national  independence  for  which  they 
fought  ?  Is  it  just,  is  it  magnanimous,  is  it  safe, 


416  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

even,  to  starve  the  patriotism  of  such  a  people,  to 
cast  their  hearts  out  of  the  treasury  of  the  Repub- 
lic, and  to  convert  them,  by  political  disfranchise- 
ment  and  social  oppression,  into  enemies  ? 


THE  SCOTTISH  EEFOEMEES. 

"  The  mills  of  God  grind  slowly,  but  they  grind  exceeding  small ; 
Though  with  patience  He  stands  waiting,  with  exactness  grinds 
He  all." 

FBIEDKICH  VON  LOGAU. 

THE  great  impulse  of  the  French  Eevolution  was 
not  confined  by  geographical  boundaries.  Flash- 
ing hope  into  the  dark  places  of  the  earth,  far  down 
among  the  poor  and  long  oppressed,  or  startling 
the  oppressor  in  his  guarded  chambers  like  that 
mountain  of  fire  which  fell  into  the  sea  at  the 
sound  of  the  apocalyptic  trumpet,  it  agitated  the 
world. 

The  arguments  of  Condorcet,  the  battle-words 
of  Mirabeau,  the  fierce  zeal  of  St.  Just,  the  iron 
energy  of  Danton,  the  caustic  wit  of  Camille  Des- 
moulins,  and  the  sweet  eloquence  of  Vergniaud 
found  echoes  in  all  lands,  and  nowhere  more  readily 
than  in  Great  Britain,  the  ancient  foe  and  rival  of 
France.  The  celebrated  Dr.  Price,  of  London, 
and  the  still  more  distinguished  Priestley,  of  Bir- 
mingham, spoke  out  boldly  in  defence  of  the  great 
principles  of  the  Eevolution.  A  London  club  of 
reformers,  reckoning  among  its  members  such  men 
as  Sir  William  Jones,  Earl  Grey,  Samuel  Whit- 
bread,  and  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  was  established 
for  the  purpose  of  disseminating  liberal  appeals 
and  arguments  throughout  the  United  Kingdom. 


418  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

In  Scotland  an  auxiliary  society  was  formed,  un- 
der the  name  of  Friends  of  the  People.  Thomas 
Muir,  young  in  years,  yet  an  elder  in  the  Scottish 
kirk,  a  successful  advocate  at  the  bar,  talented,  af- 
fable, eloquent,  and  distinguished  for  the  purity  of 
his  life  and  his  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  freedom, 
was  its  principal  originator.  In  the  twelfth  month 
of  1792  a  convention  of  reformers  was  held  at  Ed- 
inburgh. The  government  became  alarmed,  and 
a  warrant  was  issued  for  the  arrest  of  Muir.  He 
escaped  to  France ;  but  soon  after,  venturing  to 
return  to  his  native  land,  was  recognized  and  im- 
prisoned. He  was  tried  upon  the  charge  of  lend- 
ing books  of  republican  tendency,  and  reading  an 
address  from  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone  and  the  United 
Irishmen  before  the  society  of  which  he  was  a 
member.  He  defended  himself  in  a  long  and 
eloquent  address,  which  concluded  in  the  following 
manly  strain :  — 

"  What,  then,  has  been  my  crime  ?  Not  the 
lending  to  a  relation  a  copy  of  Thomas  Paine's 
works,  —  not  the  giving  away  to  another  a  few 
numbers  of  an  innocent  and  constitutional  publi- 
cation ;  but  my  crime  is,  for  having  dared  to  be, 
according  to  the  measure  of  my  feeble  abilities,  a 
strenuous  and  an  active  advocate  for  an  equal  rep- 
resentation of  the  people  in  the  House  of  the  people, 
—  for  having  dared  to  accomplish  a  measure  by 
legal  means  which  was  to  diminish  fche  weight  of 
their  taxes  and  to  put  an  end  to  the  profusion  of 
their  blood.  Gentlemen,  from  my  infancy  to  this 
moment  I  have  devoted  myself  to  the  cause  of  the 
people.  It  is  a  good  cause :  it  will  ultimately  pre- 
vail, —  it  will  finally  triumph." 


THE  SCOTTISH  REFORMERS  419 

He  was  sentenced  to  transportation  for  fourteen 
years,  and  was  removed  to  the  Edinburgh  jail, 
from  thence  to  the  hulks,  and  lastly  to  the  trans- 
port-ship, containing  eighty-three  convicts,  which 
conveyed  him  to  Botany  Bay. 

The  next  victim  was  Palmer,  a  learned  and 
highly  accomplished  Unitarian  minister  in  Dun- 
dee. He  was  greatly  beloved  and  respected  as 
a  polished  gentleman  and  sincere  friend  of  the 
people.  He  was  charged  with  circulating  a  re- 
publican tract,  and  was  sentenced  to  seven  years' 
transportation. 

But  the  Friends  of  the  People  were  not  quelled 
by  this  summary  punishment  of  two  of  their  devoted 
leaders.  In  the  tenth  month,  1793,  delegates  were 
called  together  from  various  towns  in  Scotland,  as 
well  as  from  Birmingham,  Sheffield,  and  other 
places  in  England.  Gerrald  and  Margarot  were 
sent  up  by  the  London  society.  After  a  brief  sit- 
ting, the  convention  was  dispersed  by  the  public 
authorities.  Its  sessions  were  opened  and  closed 
with  prayer,  and  the  speeches  of  its  members  man- 
ifested the  pious  enthusiasm  of  the  old  Camero- 
nians  and  Parliament-men  of  the  times  of  Crom- 
well. Many  of  the  dissenting  clergy  were  present. 
William  Skirving,  the  most  determined  of  the  band, 
had  been  educated  for  the  ministry,  and  was  a  sin- 
cerely religious  man.  Joseph  Gerrald  was  a  young 
man  of  brilliant  talents  and  exemplary  character. 
When  the  sheriff  entered  the  hall  to  disperse  the 
friends  of  liberty,  Gerrald  knelt  in  prayer.  His  re- 
markable words  were  taken  down  by  a  reporter  on 
the  spot.  There  is  nothing  in  modern  history  to 


420  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

compare  with  this  supplication,  unless  it  be  that  of 
Sir  Henry  Vane,  a  kindred  martyr,  at  the  foot  of 
the  scaffold,  just  before  his  execution.  It  is  the 
prayer  of  universal  humanity,  which  God  will  yet 
hear  and  answer. 

"  O  thou  Governor  of  the  universe,  we  rejoice 
that,  at  all  times  and  in  all  circumstances,  we  have 
liberty  to  approach  Thy  throne,  and  that  we  are  as- 
sured that  no  sacrifice  is  more  acceptable  to  Thee 
than  that  which  is  made  for  the  relief  of  the  op- 
pressed. In  this  moment  of  trial  and  persecution 
we  pray  that  Thou  wouldst  be  our  defender,  our 
counsellor,  and  our  guide.  Oh,  be  Thou  a  pillar  of 
fire  to  us,  as  Thou  wast  to  our  fathers  of  old,  to  en- 
lighten and  direct  us ;  and  to  our  enemies  a  pillar 
of  cloud,  and  darkness,  and  confusion. 

"  Thou  art  Thyself  the  great  Patron  of  liberty. 
Thy  service  is  perfect  freedom.  Prosper,  we  be- 
seech Thee,  every  endeavor  which  we  make  to  pro- 
mote Thy  cause ;  for  we  consider  the  cause  of  truth, 
or  every  cause  which  tends  to  promote  the  happi- 
ness of  Thy  creatures,  as  Thy  cause. 

"  O  thou  merciful  Father  of  mankind,  enable  us, 
for  Thy  name's  sake,  to  endure  persecution  with 
fortitude ;  and  may  we  believe  that  all  trials  and 
tribulations  of  life  which  we  endure  shall  work  to- 
gether for  good  to  them  that  love  Thee ;  and  grant 
that  the  greater  the  evil,  and  the  longer  it  may  be 
continued,  the  greater  good,  in  Thy  holy  and  ador- 
able providence,  may  be  produced  therefrom.  And 
this  we  beg,  not  for  our  own  merits,  but  through 
the  merits  of  Him  who  is  hereafter  to  judge  the 
world  in  righteousness  and  mercy." 


THE  SCOTTISH  REFORMERS  421 

He  ceased,  and  the  sheriff,  who  had  been  tem- 
porarily overawed  by  the  extraordinary  scene,  en- 
forced the  warrant,  and  the  meeting  was  broken 
up.  The  delegates  descended  to  the  street  in  si- 
lence,—  Arthur's  Seat  and  Salisbury  Crags  gloom- 
ing in  the  distance  and  night,  —  an  immense  and 
agitated  multitude  waiting  around,  over  which 
tossed  the  flaring  flambeaux  of  the  sheriff's  train. 
Gerrald,  who  was  already  under  arrest,  as  he  de- 
scended, spoke  aloud,  "  Behold  the  funeral  torches 
of  Liberty !  " 

Skirving  and  several  others  were  immediately 
arrested.  They  were  tried  in  the  first  month,  1794, 
and  sentenced,  as  Muir  and  Palmer  had  previously 
been,  to  transportation.  Their  conduct  throughout 
was  worthy  of  their  great  and  holy  cause.  Ger- 
rald's  defence  was  that  of  freedom  rather  than  his 
own.  Forgetting  himself,  he  spoke  out  manfully 
and  earnestly  for  the  poor,  the  oppressed,  the  over- 
taxed, and  starving  millions  of  his  countrymen. 
That  some  idea  may  be  formed  of  this  noble  plea 
for  liberty,  I  give  an  extract  from  the  concluding 
paragraphs :  — 

"  True  religion,  like  all  free  governments,  ap- 
peals to  the  understanding  for  its  support,  and 
not  to  the  sword.  All  systems,  whether  civil  or 
moral,  can  only  be  durable  in  proportion  as  they 
are  founded  on  truth  and  calculated  to  promote  the 
good  of  mankind.  This  will  account  to  us  why 
governments  suited  to  the  great  energies  of  man 
have  always  outlived  the  perishable  things  which 
despotism  has  erected.  Yes,  this  will  account  to 
us  why  the  stream  of  Time,  which  is  continually 


422  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

washing  away  the  dissoluble  fabrics  of  superstitions 
and  impostures,  passes  without  injury  by  the  ada- 
mant of  Christianity. 

"  Those  who  are  versed  in  the  history  of  their 
country,  in  the  history  of  the  human  race,  must 
know  that  rigorous  state  prosecutions  have  always 
preceded  the  era  of  convulsion ;  and  this  era,  I 
fear,  will  be  accelerated  by  the  folly  and  madness 
of  our  rulers.  If  the  people  are  discontented,  the 
proper  mode  of  quieting  their  discontent  is,  not  by 
instituting  rigorous  and  sanguinary  prosecutions, 
but  by  redressing  their  wrongs  and  conciliating 
their  affections.  Courts  of  justice,  indeed,  may  be 
called  in  to  the  aid  of  ministerial  vengeance  ;  but 
if  once  the  purity  of  their  proceedings  is  suspected, 
they  will  cease  to  be  objects  of  reverence  to  the 
nation ;  they  will  degenerate  into  empty  and  ex- 
pensive pageantry,  and  become  the  partial  instru- 
ments of  vexatious  oppression.  Whatever  may 
become  of  me,  my  principles  will  last  forever.  In- 
dividuals may  perish;  but  truth  is  eternal.  The 
rude  blasts  of  tyranny  may  blow  from  every  quar- 
ter ;  but  freedom  is  that  hardy  plant  which  will 
survive  the  tempest  and  strike  an  everlasting  root 
into  the  most  unfavorable  soil. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  am  in  your  hands.  About  my 
life  I  feel  not  the  slightest  anxiety :  if  it  would 
promote  the  cause,  I  would  cheerfully  make  the 
sacrifice ;  for  if  I  perish  on  an  occasion  like  the 
present,  out  of  my  ashes  will  arise  a  flame  to  con- 
sume the  tyrants  and  oppressors  of  my  country." 

Years  have  passed,  and  the  generation  which 
knew  the  persecuted  reformers  has  given  place  to 


THE  SCOTTISH  REFORMERS  423 

another.  And  now,  half  a  century  after  William 
Skirving,  as  he  rose  to  receive  his  sentence,  de- 
clared to  his  judges,  "  You  may  condemn  us  as 
felons,  but  your  sentence  shall  yet  be  reversed  by 
the  people"  the  names  of  these  men  are  once  more 
familiar  to  British  lips.  The  sentence  has  been 
reversed ;  the  prophecy  of  Skirving  has  become 
history.  On  the  21st  of  the  eighth  month,  1853, 
the  corner-stone  of  a  monument  to  the  memory  of 
the  Scottish  martyrs  —  for  which  subscriptions 
had  been  received  from  such  men  as  Lord  Hol- 
land, the  Dukes  of  Bedford  and  Norfolk,  and  the 
Earls  of  Essex  and  Leicester  —  was  laid  with  im- 
posing ceremonies  in  the  beautiful  burial-place  of 
Calton  Hill,  Edinburgh,  by  the  veteran  reformer 
and  tribune  of  the  people,  Joseph  Hume,  M.  P. 
After  delivering  an  appropriate  address,  the  aged 
radical  closed  the  impressive  scene  by  reading  the 
prayer  of  Joseph  Gerrald.  At  the  banquet  which 
afterwards  took  place,  and  which  was  presided  over 
by  John  Dunlop,  Esq.,  addresses  were  made  by 
the  president  and  Dr.  Ritchie,  and  by  William 
Skirving,  of  Kirkaldy,  son  of  the  martyr.  The 
Complete  Suffrage  Association  of  Edinburgh,  to 
the  number  of  five  hundred,  walked  in  procession 
to  Calton  Hill,  and  in  the  open  air  proclaimed  un- 
molested the  very  principles  for  which  the  martyrs 
of  the  past  century  had  suffered. 

The  account  of  this  tribute  to  the  memory  of  de- 
parted worth  cannot  fail  to  awaken  in  generous 
hearts  emotions  of  gratitude  towards  Him  who  has 
thus  signally  vindicated  His  truth,  showing  that  the 
triumph  of  the  oppressor  is  but  for  a  season,  and 


424  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

that  even  in  this  world  a  lie  cannot  live  forever. 
Well  and  truly  did  George  Fox  say  in  his  last  days, 
"  The  truth  is  above  all" 

Will  it  be  said,  however,  that  this  tribute  comes 
too  late ;  that  it  cannot  solace  those  brave  hearts 
which,  slowly  broken  by  the  long  agony  of  colonial 
servitude,  are  now  cold  in  strange  graves  ?  It  is, 
indeed,  a  striking  illustration  of  the  truth  that  he 
who  would  benefit  his  fellow-man  must  "  walk  by 
faith,"  sowing  his  seed  in  the  morning,  and  in  the 
evening  withholding  not  his  hand ;  knowing  only 
this,  that  in  God's  good  time  the  harvest  shall 
spring  up  and  ripen,  if  not  for  himself,  yet  for  oth- 
ers, who,  as  they  bind  the  full  sheaves  and  gather 
in  the  heavy  clusters,  may  perchance  remember 
him  with  gratitude  and  set  up  stones  of  memorial 
on  the  fields  of  his  toil  and  sacrifices.  We  may 
regret  that  in  this  stage  of  the  spirit's  life  the  sin- 
cere and  self-denying  worker  is  not  always  per- 
mitted to  partake  of  the  fruits  of  his  toil  or  receive 
the  honors  of  a  benefactor.  We  hear  his  good  evil 
spoken  of,  and  his  noblest  sacrifices  counted  as 
naught ;  we  see  him  not  only  assailed  by  the  wicked, 
but  discountenanced  and  shunned  by  the  timidly 
good,  followed  on  his  hot  and  dusty  pathway  by 
the  execrations  of  the  hounding  mob  and  the  con- 
temptuous pity  of  the  worldly  wise  and  prudent ; 
and  when  at  last  the  horizon  of  Time  shuts  down 
between  him  and  ourselves,  and  the  places  which 
have  known  him  know  him  no  more  forever,  we  are 
almost  ready  to  say  with  the  regal  voluptuary  of 
old,  "  This  also  is  vanity  and  a  great  evil ;  for 
what  hath  a  man  of  all  his  labor  and  of  the  vexa- 


THE   SCOTTISH  REFORMERS  425 

tion  of  his  heart  wherein  he  hath  labored  under  the 
sun  ?  "  But  is  this  the  end  ?  Has  God's  universe 
no  wider  limits  than  the  circle  of  the  blue  wall 
which  shuts  in  our  nestling-place  ?  Has  life's  in- 
fancy only  been  provided  for,  and  beyond  this 
poor  nursery-chamber  of  Time  is  there  no  play- 
ground for  the  soul's  youth,  no  broad  fields  for  its 
manhood  ?  Perchance,  could  we  but  lift  the  cur- 
tains of  the  narrow  pinfold  wherein  we  dwell,  we 
might  see  that  our  poor  friend  and  brother  whose 
fate  we  have  thus  deplored  has  by  no  means  lost 
the  reward  of  his  labors,  but  that  in  new  fields  of 
duty  he  is  cheered  even  by  the  tardy  recognition 
of  the  value  of  his  services  in  the  old.  The  con- 
tinuity of  life  is  never  broken  ;  the  river  flows  on- 
ward and  is  lost  to  our  sight,  but  under  its  new 
horizon  it  carries  the  same  waters  which  it  gathered 
under  ours,  and  its  unseen  valleys  are  made  glad 
by  the  offerings  which  are  borne  down  to  them 
from  the  past,  —  flowers,  perchance,  the  germs  of 
which  its  own  waves  had  planted  on  the  banks  of 
Time.  Who  shall  say  that  the  mournful  and  re- 
pentant love  with  which  the  benefactors  of  our 
race  are  at  length  regarded  may  not  be  to  them,  in 
their  new  condition  of  being,  sweet  and  grateful  as 
the  perfume  of  long-forgotten  flowers,  or  that  our 
harvest-hymns  of  rejoicing  may  not  reach  the  ears 
of  those  who  in  weakness  and  suffering  scattered 
the  seeds  of  blessing  ? 

The  history  of  the  Edinburgh  reformers  is  no 
new  one  ;  it  is  that  of  all  who  seek  to  benefit  their 
age  by  rebuking  its  popular  crimes  and  exposing 
its  cherished  errors.  The  truths  which  they  told 


426  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

were  not  believed,  and  for  that  very  reason  were 
the  more  needed  ;  for  it  is  evermore  the  case  that 
the  right  word  when  first  uttered  is  an  unpopular 
and  denied  one.  Hence  he  who  undertakes  to 
tread  the  thorny  pathway  of  reform  —  who,  smit- 
ten with  the  love  of  truth  and  justice,  or  indignant 
in  view  of  wrong  and  insolent  oppression,  is  rashly 
inclined  to  throw  himself  at  once  into  that  great 
conflict  which  the  Persian  seer  not  untruly  repre- 
sented as  a  war  between  light  and  darkness  — 
would  do  well  to  count  the  cost  in  the  outset.  If 
he  can  live  for  Truth  alone,  and,  cut  off  from  the 
general  sympathy,  regard  her  service  as  its  "  own 
exceeding  great  reward ; "  if  he  can  bear  to  be 
counted  a  fanatic  and  crazy  visionary ;  if,  in  all 
good  nature,  he  is  ready  to  receive  from  the  very 
objects  of  his  solicitude  abuse  and  obloquy  in  re- 
turn for  disinterested  and  self-sacrificing  efforts 
for  their  welfare ;  if,  with  his  purest  motives  mis- 
understood and  his  best  actions  perverted  and  dis- 
torted into  crimes,  he  can  still  hold  on  his  way 
and  patiently  abide  the  hour  when  "  the  whirligig 
of  Time  shall  bring  about  its  revenges ;  "  if,  on 
the  whole,  he  is  prepared  to  be  looked  upon  as  a 
sort  of  moral  outlaw  or  social  heretic,  under  good 
society's  interdict  of  food  and  fire ;  and  if  he  is 
well  assured  that  he  can,  through  all  this,  preserve 
his  cheerfulness  and  faith  in  man,  —  let  him  gird 
up  his  loins  and  go  forward  in  God's  name.  He 
is  fitted  for  his  vocation  ;  he  has  watched  all  night 
by  his  armor.  Whatever  his  trial  may  be,  he  is 
prepared;  he  may  even  be  happily  disappointed 
in  respect  to  it ;  flowers  of  unexpected  refreshing 


THE  SCOTTISH  REFORMERS  427 

may  overhang  the  hedges  of  his  strait  and  narrow 
way ;  but  it  remains  to  be  true  that  he  who  serves 
his  contemporaries  in  faithfulness  and  sincerity 
must  expect  no  wages  from  their  gratitude  ;  for,  as 
has  been  well  said,  there  is,  after  all,  but  one  way 
of  doing  the  world  good,  and  unhappily  that  way 
the  world  does  not  like ;  for  it  consists  in  telling  it 
the  very  thing  which  it  does  not  wish  to  hear. 

Unhappily,  in  the  case  of  the  reformer,  his  most 
dangerous  foes  are  those  of  his  own  household. 
True,  the  world's  garden  has  become  a  desert  and 
needs  renovation  ;  but  is  his  own  little  nook  weed- 
less  ?  Sin  abounds  without ;  but  is  his  own  heart 
pure  ?  While  smiting  down  the  giants  and  drag- 
ons which  beset  the  outward  world,  are  there  no 
evil  guests  sitting  by  his  own  hearth-stone  ?  Am- 
bition, envy,  self-righteousness,  impatience,  dogma- 
tism, and  pride  of  opinion  stand  at  his  door-way 
ready  to  enter  whenever  he  leaves  it  unguarded. 
Then,  too,  there  is  no  small  danger  of  failing  to  dis- 
criminate between  a  rational  philanthropy,  with 
its  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  and  that  spiritual 
knight-errantry  which  undertakes  the  champion- 
ship of  every  novel  project  of  reform,  scouring  the 
world  in  search  of  distressed  schemes  held  in  du- 
rance by  common  sense  and  vagaries  happily  spell- 
bound by  ridicule.  He  must  learn  that,  although 
the  most  needful  truth  may  be  unpopular,  it  does 
not  follow  that  unpopularity  is  a  proof  of  the  truth 
of  his  doctrines  or  the  expediency  of  his  measures. 
He  must  have  the  liberality  to  admit  that  it  is 
barely  possible  for  the  public  on  some  points  to  be 
right  and  himself  wrong,  and  that  the  blessing  in- 


428  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

yoked  upon  those  who  suffer  for  righteousness  is 
not  available  to  such  as  court  persecution  and  in- 
vite contempt ;  for  folly  has  its  martyrs  as  well  as 
wisdom ;  and  he  who  has  nothing  better  to  show  of 
himself  than  the  scars  and  bruises  which  the  popu- 
lar foot  has  left  upon  him  is  not  even  sure  of  win- 
ning the  honors  of  martyrdom  as  some  compensa- 
tion for  the  loss  of  dignity  and  self-respect  involved 
in  the  exhibition  of  its  pains.  To  the  reformer,  in 
an  especial  manner,  comes  home  the  truth  that 
whoso  ruleth  his  own  spirit  is  greater  than  he  who 
taketh  a  city.  Patience,  hope,  charity,  watchful- 
ness unto  prayer,  —  how  needful  are  all  these  to 
his  success !  Without  them  he  is  in  danger  of  in- 
gloriously  giving  up  his  contest  with  error  and 
prejudice  at  the  first  repulse ;  or,  with  that  spiteful 
philanthropy  which  we  sometimes  witness,  taking 
a  sick  world  by  the  nose,  like  a  spoiled  child,  and 
endeavoring  to  force  down  its  throat  the  long-re- 
jected nostrums  prepared  for  its  relief. 

What  then  ?  Shall  we,  in  view  of  these  things, 
call  back  young,  generous  spirits  just  entering  upon 
the  perilous  pathway  ?  God  forbid  !  Welcome, 
thrice  welcome,  rather.  Let  them  go  forward,  not 
unwarned  of  the  dangers  nor  unreminded  of  the 
pleasures  which  belong  to  the  service  of  humanity. 
Great  is  the  consciousness  of  right.  Sweet  is  the 
answer  of  a  good  conscience.  He  who  pays  his 
whole-hearted  homage  to  truth  and  duty,  who 
swears  his  lifelong  fealty  on  their  altars,  and  rises 
up  a  Nazarite  consecrated  to  their  holy  service, 
is  not  without  his  solace  and  enjoyment  when,  to 
the  eyes  of  others,  he  seems  the  most  lonely  and 


THE  SCOTTISH  REFORMERS  429 

miserable.  He  breathes  an  atmosphere  which  the 
multitude  know  not  of  ;  "a  serene  heaven  which 
they  cannot  discern  rests  over  him,  glorious  in  its 
purity  and  stillness."  Nor  is  he  altogether  without 
kindly  human  sympathies.  All  generous  and  ear- 
nest hearts  which  are  brought  in  contact  with  his 
own  beat  evenly  with  it.  All  that  is  good,  and 
truthful,  and  lovely  in  man,  whenever  and  wherever 
it  truly  recognizes  him,  must  sooner  or  later 
acknowledge  his  claim  to  love  and  reverence.  His 
faith  overcomes  all  things.  The  future  unrolls 
itself  before  him,  with  its  waving  harvest-fields 
springing  up  from  the  seed  he  is  scattering ;  and 
he  looks  forward  to  the  close  of  life  with  the  calm 
confidence  of  one  who  feels  that  he  has  not  lived 
idle  and  useless,  but  with  hopeful  heart  and  strong 
arm  has  labored  with  God  and  Nature  for  the  best. 
And  not  in  vain.  In  the  economy  of  God,  no 
effort,  however  small,  put  forth  for  the  right  cause, 
fails  of  its  effect.  No  voice,  however  feeble,  lifted 
up  for  truth,  ever  dies  amidst  the  confused  noises 
of  time.  Through  discords  of  sin  and  sorrow,  pain 
and  wrong,  it  rises  a  deathless  melody,  whose  notes 
of  wailing  are  hereafter  to  be  changed  to  those  of 
triumph  as  they  blend  with  the  great  harmony  of 
a  reconciled  universe.  The  language  of  a  transat- 
lantic reformer  to  his  friends  is  then  as  true  as 
it  is  hopeful  and  cheering :  "  Triumph  is  certain. 
We  have  espoused  no  losing  cause.  In  the  body 
we  may  not  join  our  shout  with  the  victors  ;  but  in 
spirit  we  may  even  now.  There  is  but  an  interval 
of  time  between  us  and  the  success  at  which  we 
aim.  In  all  other  respects  the  links  of  the  chain 


430  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

are  complete.  Identifying  ourselves  with  immortal 
and  immutable  principles,  we  share  both  their  im- 
mortality and  immutability.  The  vow  which  unites 
us  with  truth  makes  futurity  present  with  us.  Our 
being  resolves  itself  into  an  everlasting  now.  It  is 
not  so  correct  to  say  that  we  shall  be  victorious  as 
that  we  are  so.  When  we  will  in  unison  with  the 
supreme  Mind,  the  characteristics  of  His  will  be- 
come, in  some  sort,  those  of  ours.  What  He  has 
willed  is  virtually  done.  It  may  take  ages  to  un- 
fold itself ;  but  the  germ  of  its  whole  history  is 
wrapped  up  in  His  determination.  When  we  make 
His  will  ours,  which  we  do  when  we  aim  at  truth, 
that  upon  which  we  are  resolved  is  done,  decided, 
born.  Life  is  in  it.  It  is  ;  and  the  future  is  but 
the  development  of  its  being.  Ours,  therefore,  is 
a  perpetual  triumph.  Our  deeds  are,  all  of  them, 
component  elements  of  success." 1 

1  MialVs  Essays  ;  Nonconformist,  Vol.  iv. 


THE  PILGRIMS   OF  PLYMOUTH. 

From  a  letter  on  the  celebration  of  the  250th  anniversary  of 
the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth,  December  22,  1870. 

No  one  can  appreciate  more  highly  than  myself 
the  noble  qualities  of  the  men  and  women  of  the 
Mayflower.  It  is  not  of  them  that  I,  a  descend- 
ant of  the  "  sect  called  Quakers,"  have  reason  to 
complain  in  the  matter  of  persecution.  A  genera- 
tion which  came  after  them,  with  less  piety  and 
more  bigotry,  is  especially  responsible  for  the  little 
unpleasantness  referred  to  ;  and  the  sufferers  from 
it  scarcely  need  any  present  championship.  They 
certainly  did  not  wait  altogether  for  the  revenges  of 
posterity.  If  they  lost  their  ears,  it  is  satisfactory 
to  remember  that  they  made  those  of  their  mutila- 
tors  tingle  with  a  rhetoric  more  sharp  than  polite. 

A  worthy  New  England  deacon  once  described 
a  brother  in  the  church  as  a  very  good  man  God- 
ward,  but  rather  hard  man-ward.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  some  very  satisfactory  steps  have  been 
taken  in  the  latter  direction,  at  least,  since  the 
days  of  the  Pilgrims.  Our  age  is  tolerant  of  creed 
and  dogma,  broader  in  its  sympathies,  more  keenly 
sensitive  to  temporal  need,  and,  practically  recog- 
nizing the  brotherhood  of  the  race,  wherever  a  cry 
of  suffering  is  heard  its  response  is  quick  and  gen- 
erous. It  has  abolished  slavery,  and  is  lifting 
woman  from  world-old  degradation  to  equality 


432  HISTORICAL  PAPERS 

with  man  before  the  law.  Our  criminal  codes  no 
longer  embody  the  maxim  of  barbarism,  "  an  eye 
for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,"  but  have  re- 
gard not  only  for  the  safety  of  the  community,  but 
to  the  reform  and  well-being  of  the  criminal.  All 
the  more,  however,  for  this  amiable  tenderness  do 
we  need  the  counterpoise  of  a  strong  sense  of  jus- 
tice. With  our  sympathy  for  the  wrong-doer  we 
need  the  old  Puritan  and  Quaker  hatred  of  wrong- 
doing ;  with  our  just  tolerance  of  men  and  opinions 
a  righteous  abhorrence  of  sin.  All  the  more  for 
the  sweet  humanities  and  Christian  liberalism 
which,  in  drawing  men  nearer  to  each  other,  are 
increasing  the  sum  of  social  influences  for  good  or 
evil,  we  need  the  bracing  atmosphere,  healthful,  if 
austere,  of  the  old  moralities.  Individual  and  so- 
cial duties  are  quite  as  imperative  now  as  when 
they  were  minutely  specified  in  statute-books  and 
enforced  by  penalties  no  longer  admissible.  It  is 
well  that  stocks,  whipping-post,  and  ducking-stool 
are  now  only  matters  of  tradition ;  but  the  honest 
reprobation  of  vice  and  crime  which  they  symbol- 
ized should  by  no  means  perish  with  them.  The 
true  life  of  a  nation  is  in  its  personal  morality,  and 
no  excellence  of  constitution  and  laws  can  avail 
much  if  the  people  lack  purity  and  integrity. 
Culture,  art,  refinement,  care  for  our  own  comfort 
and  that  of  others,  are  all  well,  but  truth,  honor, 
reverence,  and  fidelity  to  duty  are  indispensable. 

The  Pilgrims  were  right  in  affirming  the  para- 
mount authority  of  the  law  of  God.  If  they  erred 
in  seeking  that  authoritative  law,  and  passed  over 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  for  the  stern  Hebraisms 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  PLYMOUTH        433 

of  Moses ;  if  they  hesitated  in  view  of  the  largeness 
of  Christian  liberty ;  if  they  seemed  unwilling  to 
accept  the  sweetness  and  light  of  the  good  tidings, 
let  us  not  forget  that  it  was  the  mistake  of  men 
who  feared  more  than  they  dared  to  hope,  whose 
estimate  of  the  exceeding  awfulness  of  sin  caused 
them  to  dwell  upon  God's  vengeance  rather  than 
his  compassion ;  and  whose  dread  of  evil  was  so 
great  that,  in  shutting  their  hearts  against  it,  they 
sometimes  shut  out  the  good.  It  is  well  for  us  if 
we  have  learned  to  listen  to  the  sweet  persuasion 
of  the  Beatitudes ;  but  there  are  crises  in  all  lives 
which  require  also  the  emphatic  "  Thou  shalt  not " 
ol  the  Decalogue  which  the  founders  wrote  on  the 
gate-posts  of  their  commonwealth. 

Let  us  then  be  thankful  for  the  assurances 
which  the  last  few  years  have  afforded  us  that 

"  The  Pilgrim  spirit  is  not  dead, 
But  walks  in  noon's  broad  light." 

We  have  seen  it  in  the  faith  and  trust  which  no 
circumstances  could  shake,  in  heroic  self-sacrifice, 
in  entire  consecration  to  duty.  The  fathers  have 
lived  in  their  sons.  Have  we  not  all  known  the 
Winthrops  and  Brewsters,  the  Saltonstalls  and 
Sewalls,  of  old  times,  in  gubernatorial  chairs,  in 
legislative  halls,  around  winter  camp-fires,  in  the 
slow  martyrdoms  of  prison  and  hospital  ?  The 
great  struggle  through  which  we  have  passed  has 
taught  us  how  much  we  owe  to  the  men  and 
women  of  the  Plymouth  Colony,  —  the  noblest  an- 
cestry that  ever  a  people  looked  back  to  with  love 
and  reverence.  Honor,  then,  to  the  Pilgrims  1 
Let  their  memory  be  green  forever  ! 

n 


GOVEKNOR  ENDICOTT. 

I  AM  sorry  that  I  cannot  respond  in  person  to 
the  invitation  of  the  Essex  Institute  to  its  com- 
memorative festival  on  the  18th.  I  especially  re- 
gret it,  because,  though  a  member  of  the  Society 
of  Friends,  and,  as  such,  regarding  with  abhorrence 
the  severe  persecution  of  the  sect  under  the  ad- 
ministration of  Governor  Endicott,  I  am  not  un- 
mindful of  the  otherwise  noble  qualities  and  wor- 
thy record  of  the  great  Puritan,  whose  misfortune 
it  was  to  live  in  an  age  which  regarded  religious 
toleration  as  a  crime.  He  was  the  victim  of  the 
merciless  logic  of  his  creed.  He  honestly  thought 
that  every  convert  to  Quakerism  became  by  virtue 
of  that  conversion  a  child  of  perdition;  and,  as 
the  head  of  the  Commonwealth,  responsible  for 
the  spiritual  as  well  as  temporal  welfare  of  its  in- 
habitants, he  felt  it  his  duty  to  whip,  banish,  and 
hang  heretics  to  save  his  people  from  perilous 
heresy. 

The  extravagance  of  some  of  the  early  Quakers 
has  been  grossly  exaggerated.  Their  conduct  will 
compare  in  this  respect  favorably  with  that  of  the 
first  Anabaptists  and  Independents;  but  it  must 
be  admitted  that  many  of  them  manifested  a  good 
deal  of  that  wild  enthusiasm  which  has  always 
been  the  result  of  persecution  and  the  denial  of  the 


GOVERNOR  ENDICOTT  435 

rights  of  conscience  and  worship.  Their  pertina- 
cious defiance  of  laws  enacted  against  them,  and 
their  fierce  denunciations  of  priests  and  magis- 
trates, must  have  been  particularly  aggravating  to 
a  man  as  proud  and  high  tempered  as  John  Endi- 
cott.  He  had  that  free-tongued  neighbor  of  his, 
Edward  Wharton,  smartly  whipped  at  the  cart-tail 
about  once  a  month,  but  it  may  be  questioned 
whether  the  governor's  ears  did  not  suffer  as  much 
under  Wharton's  biting  sarcasm  and  "  free  speech  " 
as  the  latter's  back  did  from  the  magisterial  whip. 
Time  has  proved  that  the  Quakers  had  the  best 
of  the  controversy  ;  and  their  descendants  can  well 
afford  to  forget  and  forgive  an  error  which  the 
Puritan  governor  shared  with  the  generation  in 
which  he  lived. 

WEST  OSSIPEE,  N.  H.,  14th  9th  Month,  1878. 


JOHN  WINTHROP. 

On  the  anniversary  of  his  landing  at  Salem. 

I  SEE  by  the  call  of  the  Essex  Institute  that 
some  probability  is  suggested  that  I  may  furnish  a 
poem  for  the  occasion  of  its  meeting  at  The  Wil- 
lows on  the  22d.  I  would  be  glad  to  make  the 
implied  probability  a  fact,  but  I  find  it  difficult  to 
put  my  thoughts  into  metrical  form,  and  there 
will  be  little  need  of  it,  as  I  understand  a  lady  of 
Essex  County,  who  adds  to  her  modern  culture 
and  rare  poetical  gifts  the  best  spirit  of  her  Puri- 
tan ancestry,  has  lent  the  interest  of  her  verse  to 
the  occasion. 

It  was  a  happy  thought  of  the  Institute  to  select 
for  its  first  meeting  of  the  season  the  day  and  the 
place  of  the  landing  of  the  great  and  good  gover- 
nor, and  permit  me  to  say,  as  thy  father's  old 
friend,  that  its  choice  for  orator,  of  the  son  of  him 
whose  genius,  statesmanship,  and  eloquence  hon- 
ored the  place  of  his  birth,  has  been  equally  happy. 
As  I  look  over  the  list  of  the  excellent  worthies  of 
the  first  emigrations,  I  find  no  one  who,  in  all  re- 
spects, occupies  a  nobler  place  in  the  early  colonial 
history  of  Massachusetts  than  John  Winthrop. 
Like  Vane  and  Milton,  he  was  a  gentleman  as  well 
as  a  Puritan,  a  cultured  and  enlightened  statesman 


JOHN  W1NTHROP  437 

as  well  as  a  God-fearing  Christian.  It  was  not 
under  his  long  and  wise  chief  magistracy  that  re- 
ligious bigotry  and  intolerance  hung  and  tortured 
their  victims,  and  the  terrible  delusion  oi  witch- 
craft darkened  the  sun  at  noonday  over  Essex.  If 
he  had  not  quite  reached  the  point  where,  to  use 
the  words  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  he  could  "  hear 
heresies  talked  and  yet  let  the  heretics  alone,"  he 
was  in  charity  and  forbearance  far  in  advance  of 
his  generation. 

I  am  sorry  that  I  must  miss  an  occasion  of  so 
much  interest.  I  hope  you  will  not  lack  the  pres- 
ence of  the  distinguished  citizen  who  inherits  the 
best  qualities  of  his  honored  ancestor,  and  who,  as 
a  statesman,  scholar,  and  patriot,  has  added  new 
lustre  to  the  name  of  Winthrop. 

DANVEBS,  6th  Month,  19, 1880. 


A  A      0002796159 


